


A Prophecy of Storms

by sophluorescent



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Animal Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy Warfare, Grief/Mourning, High Fantasy, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magic, Recreational Drug Use, Resurrection, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 46,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophluorescent/pseuds/sophluorescent
Summary: He’s chanting, his words rising high up above the din of the storm, impossibly loud. His tone bereaved, yet powerful.Minseok’s blood runs cold, attention returning to the Prince in time to watch as a convulsive twitch runs through his corpse.His deadened eyes blink. And then, his hand reaches up and grips the blade of Minseok’s sword.
Relationships: Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen, Byun Baekhyun/Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin, Kim Jongdae | Chen/Kim Minseok | Xiumin
Comments: 25
Kudos: 138
Collections: SnowSpark Fest Round One





	1. Death of the Heir

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **SnowSpark Fest (2019-20) as a self-prompt!** This is… leagues away from what I initially had planned for this fest, and I don’t write Minseok all that often, but I’m honestly proud of what I’ve managed to put together. It’s a little outside of my comfort zone, but includes a lot of familiar elements as well, so I hope I’ve taken a concept used many times before and made something… new! 
> 
> Pay attention to years! The first chapter takes place before the rest of the events of the fic, make sure you are aware of this otherwise the jump might be a lot more jarring than it’s meant to be! I'd also like to give a thanks to my beta, S, who is still working through this monster of a fic and giving me feedback. All mistakes are my own in the time being, and I'm so, so grateful that they're here to polish things up with me <3
> 
> Please bear in mind the warnings! And as always, thank you so much for reading. Please feel free to let me know what you think via comments and kudos! Even if it’s just a key smash, I promise to love and cherish it! ❤︎

**The Year 1271;**

**The City Melasi, Semma**

A storm brews overhead; in Melasi, this means it is an auspicious day. The heavens have yet to break open, but the promise is there. All Jongdae can hope is that their promise will wait ’til _after_ the games. From where he stands, underground, he can hear the stamping of feet, the roaring of crowds, the rumble of thunder. It all serves to excite him for the matches ahead.

“You will draw lots. Find whoever matches the length of your lot—they are your opponent. I wish you luck,” the Gameskeeper states, holding out both hands. Thin, golden rods protrude from the top of his grip. Though unassuming, these rods are choosing between life and death. Jongdae sincerely hopes that in his case, the rods will choose kindly.

He is the third to pull, and he draws forth an exceptionally long rod. As the rest of the challengers finish pulling, he looks up and meets eyes with his opponent.

She’s heavily covered—her face almost completely hidden—but stout, powerfully-built, and wields both a bow and a broadsword. She nods at him. They will be the last fight of the day.

As such, in the interim, Jongdae practices beneath the Coliseum floor. He listens intently to the sounds overhead, prepares himself to hear them unmuffled, prepares to have to drown them out. He _cannot_ be distracted. Not on this day, not at this time. There’s too much at stake, too much to lose. And yet, he’d not been able to pass up on the chance. Up until today, he’d been too young to participate in the Coliseum’s games. And now it was time for him to _shine_ , to show his people that he was as blessed as the Gods proclaimed him to be.

All too soon, he’s fetched and brought to the gates. He’s allowed to keep his twin spears, gilded and deadly, long, born for a gladiatorial fight, but his wrists are clasped in thick golden cuffs which immediately clamp down on the arcane thrum that hums beneath his skin. The Coliseum does not allow one fighter magic when their opponent does not also command it.

And then, the gates are opening, bright sunlight streaming down on his face. He blinks away the shock to his vision and looks out across the great arena. Opposite him, his opponent also stalks out of their cage, looking around herself.

She draws her bow and fires at him for the first half of the fight. Each arrow, he dances around, always out of reach, always out of line. She doesn’t seem to expect much else, for her shots are lackluster, sometimes altogether _too_ easy to dodge. But, soon, she runs out of arrows.

And then, it’s not until they’re a few yards from one another, burning sand beneath their feet, that she reaches up and tears away her cloth veil.

Jongdae knows who she is, _revels_ in the challenge she presents. “Princess Minkyung,” he greets, “Did you have to disguise yourself in order to join me here?”

The princess laughs, long, loud, bright. She nods, gestures towards the stands. Indeed, the reaction is not pleasant. Half of the Valiwyr’s ambassadors stand open-mouthed, the other half are shouting at the guards lining the outside of the arena. No doubt requesting that the fight be called off.

It’s a difference of cultures, starkly evident by the fact that though the Westerners have panicked, his own mother sits rigidly, enthralled by the first steps of the battle.

And beneath it all, Minkyung’s distraction is successful. She lurches forward with her broadsword, swinging heavily. Though Jongdae has danced out of the way yet again, the front of his tunic has been sliced open, and a cut has been run across his chest by the very tip of the sword. It brings the crushing reality of the fight back to the forefront of his mind.

These are _the Games_ , but this fight isn’t _a game._ His eyebrows furrow and he steps back, rebalancing himself and weighing his spears in hand. He strikes forward with the both of them, lithe, quick. The left spear is parried by use of the sword and the shaft of it splinters. The right narrowly misses the princess’s thigh.

He discards the splintered spear and returns to the single one remaining. Her weapon is heavier, has more weight, more power; his is quicker, but more delicate. If she parries him again, his only other weapon will shatter and leave him naked.

So, he fights with renewed vigor, the both of them walking all around the arena, struggling for the upper-hand. Though there is cheering, it feels far away—it is most certainly quieter than it had been at the beginning of the fight. It’s an even match and _everyone_ sits on the edge of their seats. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that sweat has stuck his shirt to his chest, and the cut from earlier has begun to ache uncomfortably. His hands have long since been embedded with splinters, and he blinks sand out of his eyes every few minutes.

Opposite him, Minkyung seems equally winded, perhaps more so. The heat will be getting to her. Though both Airabard and Melasin are northern kingdoms, hers lies up in the mountains, and his lies at the bottom of a desert.

They need to end this.

His next attacks come in quick succession. The first, he feints out her blows, the second, he dodges her valiant swing, and last, he buries his spear into her left foot.

It robs her of her agility, of her balance. He could toy with her now, but he doesn’t. She’d never held him in contempt prior to their match. Had not been arrogant in the beginning of their match.

And so he thrusts the gilded spear through her chest, ending the fight in seconds.

The horns blare his victory, the crowd roaring. He looks to the Royal’s Box, watches as his mother stands up, her smile broad, her hands raised up to the Gods in thanks. And yet, he also sees the foreigners’ faces twist with horror, and then, in hatred.

He turns away and leaves through the Champion’s Gate.

***

**The Year 1271;**

**The Kingdom Ocalle, Veloch**

He stamps the letter with hot wax, presses his seal into the red splotch, and then fans it in the air, allowing it to solidify completely. Only after he has stacked it to the side—neatly, so that when the courier comes they do not have to scramble—does he regard Kyungsoo with a cautious eye. Rarely would his advisor interrupt him during this part of his day, when he takes care of diplomatic matters within the Five Kingdoms of the Valiwyr and their allies in the south. It’s simply too important to warrant an interruption.

Which means whatever news Kyungsoo brings to hand now is of the highest caliber.

“The Council has been called, my King. They have all assembled and are waiting for you,” Kyungsoo says, measuredly, because he is never one to jump to conclusions. Still, if the Council has been called, Minseok was right in thinking that, indeed, there is a great issue at hand.

“Why is it that the Council is sooner aware than I of whatever has happened to warrant our gathering?” Minseok asks, standing up and collecting his furs and sword from the small place beside him. He straps the sword to his belt and dons the royal, white furs, then falls into step with Kyungsoo, who leads him deftly through the halls.

Kyungsoo shakes his head, “Your mother called them together. I’ve yet to learn why.”

And that gives Minseok pause. Rare though it is for him to see his mother (ever since his election), it’s queer that she wouldn’t contact him personally before going to the Council as a whole. For the first time in years, he feels an uptick in his heart rate.

He quickens his step.

They eat up ground, winding through hallways, ignoring all those servants and court-people that greet them on their way, all up until they’ve reached the Council Room.

Minseok ascends to his place at the top of the gallery and finally, he looks down. He does not have to say a word, for the Council has already jumped into action, practically foaming at the mouth.

Through his mother’s enraged spittle, her horrible half-wail half-scream, does he find out that his dear sister is dead.

Dead at the hands of a foreign prince in one of their feral war-games.

His anger mounts, hands clenched against the wood of his seat, and then, he releases it. Returns himself to a state of moderation. He was not elected to rule as King for his quick action. He was elected for _decisive_ action. For action taken once mulled over. And even now as his own heart snarls, he holds himself in check.

“Have we requested to try her murderer?” He asks, voice silencing all murmuring in the chamber. They look at him, then down to the floor of the gallery, where the Airabardian Queen stands shaking with fury.

She unfurls the letter in her hand once more, reading, and then, sucking in a breath, reads: “‘We have requested the apprehension of the Prince at once, so that he might be tried before the Council. We were refused on the grounds that no gladiators are coerced into the Coliseum. They argue that the Princess consented to her own death.’ Minseok, you can’t—”

“Address me by my title,” Minseok warns, cutting her off. He’ll not have her manipulate him into hasty action. “If the Coliseum fights are not coerced then…” He trails off, at a loss for words.

“She mustn’t have know, my King,” the King of Lorraine says, looking up to Minseok’s seat. “She is the heir to Airabard, she couldn’t have risked her life knowing this. She must have thought they were sparring matches, not _truly_ fights to the death.”

Minseok immediately wants to argue. His sister was as surefooted as he is. She would never have entered herself in a game she didn’t know the rules of. Still, he stays quiet, mulls their options.

“They said that the Prince _gloated_ over her corpse, Minseok,” his mother cries, falling to her knees, letter outstretched. Tears run down her face, marring her makeup. A woman of severe countenance in court, of warm cooperation at home, to see her so distraught _does_ tug at Minseok’s heart. Dangerously so. “They say he _spat_ on her. Are you really going to let them do that? You’re going to have your sister’s memory tarnished by those _dogs_?”

The Council erupts into discussion, but Minseok merely leans back, his eyes falling shut, his hands limp in his lap. He can feel his anger bubbling up to the surface once more. If what his mother says is true, that his beloved sister was _disrespected_ by some arrogant prince… then perhaps his ire is justified.

He holds up a hand for silence.

“If the Council wishes to declare war, I will wage it. For my family and the dignity of the Valiwyr.”

The votes are taken. The Queen of Airabard turns to the Council scribe and directs them to write the declaration.

By the time the sun sets, they have sent their Declaration of War.


	2. The Witch of Sawo Lok

**The Year 1278;**

**Semma, Muk’eti**

Walking into Salina is like walking into the ruins of some ancient civilization long brought down to its knees. The city is empty, completely ceded to Minseok’s forces, the soldiers on the walls having evacuated sometime within the dead of night. Flags and clotheslines still cross over streets, waving in the slight breeze. Clouds of sand whoosh down alleyways, the current picking up all of the trash and debris left out on the streets. Many of the buildings look untouched. Others have been torn down to their foundations. Great pillars of black smoke rise up in the distance.

“What do you think is burning?” Kyungsoo asks, reining his horse closer to Minseok’s.

“Food and documents, most likely. Maps, letters, general records and blueprints. Anything to make it more difficult for us to progress from here,” Minseok reasons, taking note of the fact that if the city was ceded with minimal bloodshed, it must have been deemed worthless to the Melasi Military. “They didn’t want a position here. We should make them regret that. I’d like to have the ports repaired in the next couple of weeks, that way we can establish supply lines not only back to Veloch but also to the Middle Passage. I’ll personally send word to Wicor and Miasm notifying them of the new shipping route.” He trots his horse further inside the city, careful to keep himself on the wider streets. He’s under the assumption that the city is truly empty, but he’s not a fool; if anyone stayed behind, he’s prepared for them.

Kyungsoo nods along to his orders and leaves him be, turning to the next in command to begin relaying what was directed to him.

Minseok’s attention remains on the tall, monolith in the distance—the Kwati’s Palace. Translated to mean the Princess’s Palace. He’s almost surprised that one of the Carisina’s daughters would willingly give up her kingdom, but then again, he’s not. The Melasin royals are infamous for their mischief and trickery. He’ll not be shocked if this is all a trap.

But the longer he rides into the city, the closer he approaches the palace, the more sure he becomes that this is an honest retreat. There appears to be nothing left behind in the city’s previous ruler’s wake. Nothing but burning papers and empty houses.

This is proven true after he’s explored the empty palace. No poison awaits him, no gas, no magic, no fire. It’s empty, left barren apart from its furniture. The kitchens have been cleaned out.

The Throne has been melted down (it was made of gold) and now sits as an uncomfortable mass in the center of the throne room. Minseok nearly laughs at its appearance—it’s on brand for an arrogant princess to leave behind a Throne that cannot be sat on. Only now does Kyungsoo return to his side. “Petulant,” he remarks, glancing at the Throne.

Minseok snorts, agreeing. “Very. The soldiers have been told to quarter where they’d like, I imagine.”

“The commanders are divvying up the housing as we speak. The only thing making them anxious is the temple in the square.”

“I imagine they’d like it torn down for bearing the images of false gods?”

“It’s filled with idols. The men are nervous about it. You know how they are about witchcraft. And… it’s not empty.”

This catches Minseok’s attention, and he turns his gaze to Kyungsoo. His advisor’s face remains severe, but his eyes betray that slight twinge of worry that Minseok had been loathe to see. “How many?”

“There are three women. One priestess and two attendants. They’re tending to the Flame of the Temple.”

“Which god?”

“One of the Keykaads. Katsot, the titan who gave them fire. The patron of Salina.” Kyungsoo blinks, slowly, full of meaning. “The missionaries who attached themselves to our ranks want to see them burned at the stake as heretics.”

“The stake is a slow death, I hardly think it’s necessary punishment when the city was given over with hardly any bloodshed. Have them set outside the walls, in the desert. If they die there, then, it is not on our conscience.”

Kyungsoo glances down, “It’s bold that you think you can control religious fervor, Minseok. I’ll be surprised if they’ve not been killed by the time I return to issue your orders.”

“If the missionaries kill them, then I will kill the missionaries,” Minseok says very calmly. “You and I both know I am not fond of our missionaries’ god. But, even as King of the Valiwyr, I don’t have much choice over the kingdoms’ religion. I do have choice over how to use my army. And they will not slaughter innocent clerics.”

Kyungsoo nods, turning. Minseok follows him back outside to their horses (waiting in the palace courtyard). They ride back quickly. Indeed, Kyungsoo was right in saying that the missionaries are not ones to wait for orders, for they have already begun to create the base upon which the clerics will be burned.

Minseok pulls three of the mounted soldiers he knows and trusts—those that are watching the work of the fanatics with wary looks—and leads them into the Temple.

It’s a beautiful building, tall and airy, letting in all of the sunlight outside and reflecting it in multiple different colors across the floor of the Temple. In the center of the room, inside a giant golden bowl, a great flame waves and dances. Next to it, three women regard Minseok and his company warily. They’re dressed in black, the color of the soot in the bowl, and have decorated themselves with necklaces and other jewelry with stones the color of the flame.

All of them are quite beautiful, all of them are quite stubborn.

“We’ll escort you out,” Minseok says calmly, speaking in Common to better the chances he is understood. “Leave you beyond the walls. You are not welcome here.”

They snarl at him in their native tongue and motion to the Flame. Minseok waits for Kyungsoo to translate: “They say they will not leave the Flame unattended.”

“Tell them, then, that their Flame means nothing against their lives. They are not martyrs,” Minseok says, equally stubborn. Kyungsoo relays his words, but the women are unswayed. In fact, they refuse to even speak to the King at that point, instead, directing their attention back to feeding the great flame from the stocks of wood homes inside the temple.

Minseok’s frustration mounts ever so slightly and he takes a step back, turning to the soldier’s he’d brought inside with him. “Go fetch me some buckets of sea water.”

The soldiers disappear, leaving Minseok and Kyungsoo alone with the three priestesses. Kyungsoo continues to talk to them in their tongue, sounding coaxing and sincere. Minseok, though, turns his attention to the statues lining the wall of thecircular temple.

As he moves around looking at the various Keykaads, one of the priestesses comes over and begins to tell him what he assumes are their names. Katsot, Ipos, Skyushtrat, Ichy’, Chyhus, Askwi—each of them regal depictions, but likely only a fraction of the grandeur of the statues in the Temples in the Capital.

Minseok doesn’t care for these unfamiliar gods, but, he’ll let the priestess tell him about them if she so wishes. He’s about to piss her off greatly, so he’ll let her have this small victory.

At that point the soldiers arrive, buckets balances on sticks rested across their horse’s withers. Minseok meets their gaze. “Douse the Flame.”

The women realize what’s happening just a beat too late. The first bucket of water causes the Flame to flicker. The second causes a worse wilting. The third and fourth are dropped successively, and the flame peters out completely, leaving behind the hissing, blackened logs it had been fed.

The women set on them with their nails and fists, clawing and hitting. But Minseok is armored, as is Kyungsoo and the accompanying soldiers. “We’ll be escorting them outside the city. If a missionary asks you to stop, relay that these are my orders. Those that prevent them from being carried out can meet my sword.”

The soldiers wrestle the women onto the horses and then do as ordered, Minseok and Kyungsoo following behind them calmly, keeping the troops and fanatics at bay as the women are released to the desert.

“Do you really think it was in good faith to douse their flame. Perhaps you should have allowed them to die for their god. After all, they treat it as the highest sacrifice.”

“I care about people, not gods, Kyungsoo. I won’t have some priestess die by fire because she couldn’t admit to a lie.”

“Religion is not a lie, Minseok. Perhaps, if you were more involved in a faith, you’d be happier,” Kyungsoo argues. He’s the only one allowed to speak to Minseok so familiarly, and he certainly capitalizes on that fact. “Your sister certainly believed in the value of Lij.”

“Don’t talk about my sister,” Minseok says, sharply now, making sure Kyungsoo understands his limits. His advisor demurs, changing the conversation topic as they return back to the palace.

When they arrive, Minseok turns his attention to the future. “We know there are three towns North of here, all of which farm. We’ll need food for the troops while waiting for support to arrive from the West. If we can peacefully occupy these towns, our chances of keeping disease minimal and health at a pinnacle are much better.”

To which Kyungsoo agrees. He points down at the map Minseok had brought inside his packs. It’s not as detailed as a map of Muk’eti would be if drawn by a Muk’etin native, but, it’s detailed enough. Kyungsoo used to study in Pichy, the learning capital of the world, native to the Muk’eti continent, and he’s come back with his own knowledge of the area.

“I was schooled further South, along the coast. All there was behind us was the Isati, which is basically uninhabitable. It’s not worth our time, especially since we know there are no major settlements inside of it from which the Semmans can hold a defensive point. Our problems lie to the North. Our goal should be to capture Mutiara and travel up the river. The Keykaad is aptly named after their titan pantheon. It’s both wide enough and deep enough to account for even the largest of our naval assets.”

“What is the defense like at Mutiara?”

“Rumors have suggested that the Melasin Prince waits for you there. It has to be accessed from the sea. It’s land position is far too defensible. The city is large enough to span a couple miles of coast and then, it climbs rapidly in elevation. The land approach is like that of Ocalle’s. A mountain nearly impenetrable from the outside.”

“So, that’s why the Mutiarin Navy is so impressive, because it’s the only defense they need to put money into?” Minseok asks.

Kyungsoo nods. “But, we’ve conquered Mutiara once before. Lorraine, around six hundred years ago, launched a successful offensive, through the sea-route, and took the city.”

“And then, we gave it back to the damn snakes as a gesture of good faith,” Minseok spits angrily.

“Indeed, but we can’t stew over what’s been done. It was a good move at the time, launched us into several decades of prosperity with Semma. Now we know not to trust them,” Kyungsoo says calmly, smoothing over Minseok’s ire. “Right now, our attention will stay on the three towns to our North. Then, we can either march straight for Mutiara and set up a perimeter around the city, or we can attempt to take T’ike from one of the Kwatis.”

“What would T’ike afford us?”

“Keep morale up among the troops. Create a rift in the support the Melasin prince has been getting. He is their Royal General, and as so far, since we haven’t had any… victories, he seems to be doing fine regardless of the fact that he’s giving up land. So long as his people aren’t being slaughtered, he’ll have their love and support.”

“Then let’s take T’ike and paint their streets. The more discordant their side is, the better we fare in the long run.”

“As you wish. We can rest for a couple of weeks here, and then, march on T’ike,” Kyungsoo says and takes his leave. Minseok leaves the meeting room they had commandeered and explores his way into the Kwati’s wing, finally finding the bedchambers. The beds in Muk’eti are not put on frames, but are instead, set into the floor. This one is lavish, covered in blankets and other pillows and pelts.

It rests beneath a canopy of sheer gold curtains. After he undresses, he grabs the map and parts the canopy, collapsing into the plush bedding. He spreads the map out in front of him once more, scanning the environment he’s hoping to conquer. If the Melasin royals had been so impudent as to refuse the—reasonable—request of the Valiwyr, then the Council had seen it fit to remove them of their rule. Clearly, they were not capable of diplomacy.

So, here Minseok acts. A foreign invader hoping to conquer a land he doesn’t know, has never visited. In her letters, Minkyung had enjoyed the Eastern desert land. She’d liked the culture and activities, but often bemoaned the strictness exercised by the envoy accompanying her.

Everyday, Minseok thinks that perhaps, the war is a mistake. His sister is dead, but, if the letter was to be believed—by her own hand.

He shakes his head, dispelling the thoughts and rolls the map back up, setting it aside. And then, he sleeps.

***

T’ike stands formidably in the distance, its Colossus (named Awe Kwaño after the God of Swords) guarding its walls. Minseok looks at it with a cold gaze, sizing the city’s defense up. “What do we know about T’ike?” He asks Kyungsoo.

“Legend says that Awe Kwaño comes to life to defend his city should it ever come under attack. It has never fallen to a foreign army.”

“Has anyone ever attempted to take it?”

“Hundreds of years ago, when Ch’ewi ruled an empire. They failed so decisively that the entire empire crumbled, leaving them only the old city they have today,” Kyungsoo explains.

“Well then, let’s not lose. Is there actual merit in the Colossus coming to life?”

Kyungsoo shrugs. “It’s possible. But, not without great magic at hand. The last time it allegedly came to life, it was woken by the Witch of Sawo Lok. Unless the witch is here, I don’t think it’s of concern.”

“Sawo Lok?”

“The Salt Queen. An ancient, primordial god. Modern Muk’eti doesn’t worship her for the most part. I haven’t heard her name used in years. Meaning, the witch probably isn’t of any concern.”

“Probably?”

“The myths gets hazy and the only reason I’ve even heard them is because I studied at Pichy’s University and it happens to be bordered by the Isati. We got vagabonds from time to time that would tell them. Occasionally instructors would mention them. But, back to the witch… vagabonds refer to them as if they were alive. Meaning, it’s possible that the Witch of Sawo Lok is either still alive or it’s an inherited title.”

“So there’s people that think she’s immortal?”

“Muk’etin’s word for ‘witch’ isn’t gendered, and to my understanding, they’re male. But to answer your question… yes.” Kyungsoo shrugs, “But, again, it requires so much magic to animate something that size, I don’t think it’ll be a necessary concern. If we look at the city realistically-“

“The biggest issue is the wall,” Minseok agrees, “it’s massive compared to Salina’s and even then, we were held for several weeks by only a couple hundred soldiers. All of which were able to evacuate unseen. We cannot breach the walls using brute force.”

“No,” Kyungsoo agrees, “you’ll have to find a way inside. We could… scale the walls. Those on the Northern side of the city have fewer watchtowers. It’s… possible.”

“It’s really not,” Minseok murmurs, “do we know how their supplies go in and out?”

“Front gate. They inspect everything. But, the supply train is minimal. They grow most of what they need inside the walls.”

“In this heat?” Minseok raises his brows, tugging at his collar. “I’m surprised.” He regards the city again. “How much do you think it would take to weaken the base of their beloved Colossus?”

“Catapult the ankles and I suppose it could be thrown off balance.”

“It’s tall enough to land right on top of their walls.”

“Indeed,” Kyungsoo murmurs.

And, in the dead of night, just a few days later, they have rolled their catapults to the base of the Colossus, with soldiers scaling up the foundation to attach great ropes around the beast of a statue, mooring them to the ground between it in and the wall. They are still working at it in the morning, and then, into the evening afterwards, but, they are working fast, and by then, it is finished.

Minseok gives the order to the catapults, watches as they send their great stones up into the legs of the Colossus with relative accuracy. They shoot seven times before the statue sways backwards.

With a great groan, the Colossus begins to fall.

The troops manning the catapults retreat somewhat. Minseok stands where he is, confident he’ll not be hit with any debris.

He’s correct and gets to watch unhindered as the statue crashes into the city walls. He watches the cracks spiral out from the point of impact, and then, as the statue crumbles, the walls follow it, turning to ruin before their eyes.

Now, he gives the signal for an invasion.

The troops rush forward, cavalry heading the line, but the men equally excited by the impressive feat. Minseok urges his own horse forward, the huge stallion eating up land as they press forward.

He rides through the city with Kyungsoo in tow. The soldiers in the city fight them valiantly at the fallen gate, but they cannot hold up against the swarm of Velochian soldiers. Minseok doesn’t feel any regret for his attack, but his heart goes out to the women made widows, to the violence that will inevitably follow the falling of the city.

Kyungsoo leads him through the streets towards the palace, a small cohort of soldiers behind them, following along. It’s at the palace gates that Minseok is finally forced to to engage in actual combat, drawing his broadsword against the guards.

Yet, even then, they’ve lost their fervor. They fight with half of the energy they would have had should the walls still stand. Now, they’re sluggish, almost waiting to be cut down. Some surrender completely.

“Bring me to your _Kwati_!” Minseok shouts at the nearest cowering guard.

Kyungsoo repeats his words, “ _Nguk spel ap_ ʼ _hip_ ʼ _, Kwati,_ ” and the soldier comes to life, leading their squadron inside.

She’s dead on her throne, shattered vial resting on the ground beneath her limp hand. Minseok curls his lip with disgust, “She couldn’t even bear to lose, Kyungsoo. And now her city’s going to suffer.”

“So be a gentle conqueror. Exercise what’s needed to subdue, but put out the word that any man that rapes will be hanged. That anyone who pillages will have their hands removed.”

“I’ve already given that order,” Minseok says.

“Then see that it’s enforced. Do not be gentle to the men that chose to follow you here, but disregard your orders. Laud those that follow your orders as they should, make an example of those that don’t.

“Then, get me eyes on the streets. We’ll be forced to quarter soldiers with the city’s inhabitants, but I want as much vigilance as I can possibly have.”

Kyungsoo leaves the room, already executing Minseok’s orders.

Minseok stares at the dead princess for several long minutes. And then, he turns, making his way more deeply into the castle. His soldiers follow him, help him apprehend servants and members of the palace elite. Helps to subdue them and move them into wings that can be watched and monitored.

And so, T’ike is conquered for the first time. Minseok sitting on its Throne.

***

“Mutiara will be a more difficult battle than T’ike. We have no Colossus to topple. Their walls will hold. To win it, we have to win over their Navy and then the soldiers from the Capital inevitably waiting inside. But otherwise, the city is a city of merchants. They’ll hand over the port so long as they’re given the leeway to continue their business. Most are foreignors anyways, and aren’t loyal to the city itself, but to the money,” Kyungsoo explains.

“If we conquered the unconquerable city, we can conquer this one,” Minseok says calmly. Mutiara is an expansive city on the maps, spanning a long stretch of coastland, but, it’s defense is largely natural, making it difficult to fight up against. The sea route, as discussed before, is truly their only way of approach, and the rumor is that the Mutiarin Navy has been growing fat while waiting for them.

Minseok’s rather sick of boats at this point, the rocking and swaying of this one nearly proving too much. He’s not one for the sea. Rather, he’d loved Ocalle and all of its dangerous peaks and difficult hikes. It got his adrenaline running—made him feel alive. The sea is the opposite, his stomach turning each time a wave sends them keeling. “Have we received word from Lorraine?”

“We have. They’re ready to join our offensive. They’ll sail at the sight of firelight.”

“That’s rather late, don’t you think?” Minseok comments. “Even if it is only an hour’s trip from Lorraine to Mutiara, an hour could be the difference between a victory and a loss.”

“The Lorraini King isn’t known to be particularly helpful, especially since he’s been eyeing your throne since well before you took it,” Kyungsoo supplies, “But, they’ve agreed to help, for what it’s worth. I suspect it’s because they feared your ire should you win the battle and turn on them for their inaction. At least now, they can say they were involved.”

“They are cowards.”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo agrees. He leans against the table tiredly. “I mean it when I say this will be a difficult fight, Minseok. We _cannot_ allow their ships near ours.”

Minseok nods. He’s familiar with the build of a Muk’etin ship. Built with long blades to tear and moor themselves to their opposition, the ships are deadly. If the blades don’t sink you, the sailors jumping aboard your ship will. “We need to make sure our Captains are clear with this. Canons until it’s realistically impossible. In the instance a ship becomes a loss, but is still sailable, send it into their ranks aflame. Create chaos.”

“They’ll thrive in the chaos, my King,” Kyungsoo says. “If Melasi is the brain, this is the heart. Semma _will fall_ if we take this city, and Melasi will fight tooth and nail to prevent that from happening. After all, this is one of its seven walls.”

“I’ve stolen two of their so-called walls,” Minseok says, referring to both T’ike and Salina. “I can steal another.”

Kyungsoo sighs, looking out the porthole again, gazing at the distant city and the swarm of ships floating outside of it. “When will we mount the offensive?”

“Nightfall. Make sure everyone is prepared.”

Minseok retires to his cabin, taking the time to clean his blade, and prepare his bow. They’ll be firing at range tonight, trying to weaken the city’s forces. If it all works, then tomorrow, they can mount a more aggressive offensive with the force of the Lorraini Navy behind them. As it is, Minseok wants to play the long game and tire them out.

He just hopes he’ll not tire first. He’s hoping that because his men are riding the euphoric waves of two previous victories, they’ll fight well in the coming seige—regardless of how long it takes. But, there’s a chance it won’t go that way, and that things will go awry.

So, he waits patiently, regardless of the clamminess of his hands and the overbearing feeling that this will be the battle to break his streak. To thrust his fame into the dirt.

The Corpse King, famed for his victories, a man with no losses.

All too soon, the battle is upon them. Minseok walks out onto the deck and watches as they approach, wary to keep a fair distance between their ships and the Muk’etin ones. And then, they begin to fire. Arrows are set aflame and sent across the way. In the dark, it’s difficult to see, but, Minseok watches as the first volley hit their targets.

Seconds later, all of the flames flicker out, as if a great gust of wind stole their fire. The commanders order another volley, but, like before, the fires go out.

Minseok’s blood runs cold, a numbness running over his hands.

Next to him, Kyungsoo mutters a prayer.

A flash of lightning illuminates the sea.

The Mutiarin Navy glides along the water, quick, aggressive. By the next flash of lightning, their ships are crashing into Minseok’s.

Beneath his feet, there’s a great jolt. It seems like a catalyst. As the first Muk’etin sailors begin to swarm over his ship’s railings, the sky breaks open, rain pouring down in sheets.

Visibility is null, but Minseok draws his sword all the same, backing into Kyungsoo. They team up immediately, both of them protecting each other’s back, and they begin to fight. He stabs and slashes. His blows are heavy, slower than the Muk’etin’s, but they are more decisive, more deadly. He’s been slashed by a sabre twice now, but he is still perfectly capable of fighting at his full potential.

He fells another man, kicking the body off of his blade, and only then does he look up. Despite never having met the man opposite him, he _knows_ who he is. Is absolutely sure of it when the sky lights up again and the electricity seems to sparkle in his eyes.

It seems the Prince of Storms lives up to his name.

Minseok parries the Prince’s first attack. He wields a single spear, but one of his hands is visibly bloodied with splinters and other shards of wood. He must have lost a spear already.

So, Minseok attacks heavily on him, all of his attacks aimed at making the prince’s defensive blocks difficult and clumsy. Eventually, the prince switches the spear into his injured hand, a snarl ripped from his throat. Now, he gets better at blocking, but his attacks are still sloppy, and Minseok takes advantage of it immediately.

It happens quickly. The Prince’s spear glances off his shoulder, leaving a gash it its wake, but the only reason it hit is that Minseok was already swinging. His hit isn’t killer, but it throws the Prince off balance enough to have him stumbling back against the mast, his defenses momentarily wilted.

Minseok stabs forward again, this time, homing his sword in the prince’s throat. The force of the blow is powerful enough to pin the prince’s corpse upright against the mast, a macabre puppet of war.

Time seems to slow down, fighters on both sides catching wind of the sudden death and momentarily, pausing in their movements.

A cheer of victory runs through the Northern troops, their fighting given more purpose. Minseok looks up from his kill, as if expecting someone to let out the call for retreat, and locks eyes with the silver-haired soldier on the boat the Prince had obviously come from.

He’s chanting, his words rising high up above the din of the storm, impossibly loud. _“P_ ʼ _u lok nguk hlyok hlyoplang,”_ he yells above the waves, his tone both bereaved but powerful. _“Sawo Lok wuchy_ ʼ _ep_ ʼ _eyño loñi!”_ Kyungsoo stiffens against Minseok’s back, obviously shocked by whatever chant comes forth from the stranger’s mouth.

Then in common, the man screams, “ **Sawo Lok** , **resurrect your prince**!”

Minseok’s blood runs cold, his attention returning to the slaughtered Prince in time to watch as a convulsive twitch runs down his entire body. His opened, deadened eyes blink. And then, his hand reaches up and grips the blade of Minseok’s sword, wrestling with it.

He cannot free himself from the blade, not yet.

So, Minseok turns his attention back to the stranger. “Kill the Witch!” He snarls in his native tongue, directing all of his soldiers’ attention to the magician.

The Witch spits his words equally forcefully, commanding the Melasin soldiers back to order. Then, he’s leaping onto the Prince’s old ship, and making his way towards the Valiwyr vessel, his steps purposeful and quick. He dances out of reach of swords, bends around arrows, and wields his whip with the same deadly precision as his blade, throwing his opponents off balance before stabbing them through with his sabre.

Minseok meets him before he can reach the Prince, swinging at him. Magic ripples through his feet, throwing him off balance, but his swing still cuts quick. The Witch uses physical weapons as well as he does his magic, and even with a sword as delicate as the thin fencing-style sabre he commands, he’s capable of parrying Minseok’s heavier blade with deft skill.

In fighting the Witch, Minseok ignores the prince, and that is his mistake. Lightning sparkles at the edge of his vision, and then, it’s traveling up his legs, singeing through him with deadly precision.

He convulses, hand dropping his blade.

The Witch kneels down, hair dripping with rain, eyes alight with fire, and grins. “ _A hlyol yetsis,_ ” He crows. Minseok does not need a translator to know what the witch has said. He’s lost.

Another jolt of electricity robs him of his consciousness.

***

When he wakes, he’s on land. This much is immediately evident. The next thing he notices is that Kyungsoo remains alive, gagged and bound opposite him, a long rope binding him to the floor. A twin rope leashes Minseok.

Only after these observations does he begin to feel the pain of a lost battle. The ache of his arms from swinging his hefty sword, the lingering tension all over his body as a result of his near electrocution. And then, he hears footsteps. A figure comes into view, indistinguishable in the bright light of the window behind his head, and finally, they crouch. It’s the silver-haired witch.

His eyes are nearly white, and sparkle like opal does. It gives him the immediate appearance of something otherworldly, not all-together human. Perhaps, he is like the faeries that can be found in Wiccor and the other Middle Passage cities. His teeth are equally white behind his grin. He says something, but Minseok groans, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand whatever language the witch speaks.

“Common,” he mutters, leaning back against the wall, striving to get the witch out of his face.

“Baekhyun doesn’t speak Irida Common, unfortunately,” a new voice says. It’s strong, melodic, almost whimsy in quality. If Minseok didn’t know it belonged to an enemy, he might have fallen for it. As it is, all of his defenses remain up. “He’s not really one to follow the times.”

“Then your _Baekhyun_ is a fool. Communication is the gateway to success.”

“And that’s why he’s more inclined to communicate with the Gods. You’ll have to forgive him if he only learns a few mortal tongues,” the Prince of Storms says, crouching down next to Baekhyun, who immediately presses against his side. They’re comfortable with one another, strikingly so. Minseok’s not used to it, even after being surrounded by his army for a couple of years now. “He was only saying he’s surprised you’re awake so early.”

“Was I supposed to stay unconscious?” Minseok asks drily. Jongdae snorts.

“Perhaps. But, it’s more interesting to have you here alive and awake,” he says, standing up. Baekhyun follows him a beat later, foreign words tumbling out of his mouth. That appears to be the end of their conversation with Minseok, as Baekhyun and Jongdae begin to converse in their native tongue, occasionally laughing, mostly arguing by the sound of it.

In time, Kyungsoo wakes up as well. As the translator in their pair, he immediately attunes himself to their captor’s conversation. It seems to be filler, for the most part, but then, Kyungsoo seems to remember something and speaks up, asking something in their captors’ shared tongue.

Baekhyun’s voice responds, “ _Yolit Sawo Lok.”_

Minseok can infer, but Kyungsoo confirms his thoughts. “He’s the Witch of Sawo Lok.”

“Is Baekhyun more curious a specimen than I?” Jongdae asks, voice lilting, teasing. Kyungsoo blushes, flustered, but Minseok turns and meets the Prince’s gaze levelly.

“One of you is a myth, the other’s a bit of an ass. I’m sure you can parse which is which.”

Jongdae barks with laughter, his voice filling up the entire room. And then, he translates what was said to Baekhyun, who subsequently loses himself to another fit of laughter. A few more voices chime in, suggesting that they are not entirely alone, but Minseok cannot look far enough around to see them.

“You should untie them, let them come eat. It’s not like they have any weapons,” one of the voices suggests. “And they have spunk. I’m impressed. I was expecting a little more stoicism.”

Minseok wrinkles his nose, but, in the next minute, hands are at his back, letting him up. He waits until the ropes fall loose before reaching up, gripping his captor’s head and dragging them over his shoulder and onto the floor in front of him. A second later, powerful magic is ripping his hands away from his captor’s neck and slamming his wrists back against the wall.

Then, the magic puppets his hands around his own neck, squeezing his fingers around his throat. Panic rises like bile into his mouth.

And as soon as it had escalated, the magic releases him.

“ _Hlyingiñ, Chanyeol.”_ Baekhyun murmurs, directing his words to the man Minseok had wrestled to the ground. Though his pride has been wounded, Chanyeol recovers quickly, scrambling upright. He unties Kyungsoo with more care, but Kyungsoo doesn’t make any effort to attack him.

“You can come eat, if you would like,” one of the stranger’s voices invites. Minseok has half a mind to refuse, but his stomach grumbles and he gains little by losing his strength. He pushes himself to his feet, swaying once upright, his vision spinning.

“ _Hlyingiñ,”_ Baekhyun repeats, this time directed at Minseok. Kyungsoo translates—“careful”—and then offers Minseok his arm, helping him across the room and then, to his cushion next to the table (which is built to suit a cross-legged, friendly, floor-sitting dinner). He surveys those sitting around them, all foreign, most of whom he doesn’t recognize.

The only one he knows is Kim Junmyeon, the previous ambassador from Melasi to Ocalle. He catches Minseok’s eye and nods in greeting, but doesn’t make any attempt to converse, keeping his voice low and between he and Baekhyun. He lights two long, delicate smoking pipes, then puts one to his mouth, the other held up to Baekhyun’s.

Purple smoke curls past the witch’s lips after he releases his breath. It’s almost beautiful, but Minseok doesn’t dwell on it, instead looking elsewhere. To his right, he learns through observation that there’s a man named Jongin. His body is lean, smooth, an Adonis amongst men. He wears only a thin skirt-like wrap around his hips. He regards Minseok with open curiosity, but like Baekhyun, he does not speak the Common Tongue with him. To his left sits Kyungsoo, and next to Kyungsoo there’s a boy named Sehun. He can’t see much of him from where he’s sitting, but he knows he’s there.

And directly across from him, to the right of Jongdae, there’s Yixing, who Minseok knows as the wealthiest merchant in Irida. He’s surprised to see him keeping company with the prince, but, upon further thought, it makes sense. Those with money gravitate towards those with power.

Jongdae’s the one that really talks to him, and though Minseok keeps his answers short and clipped, he seems undeterred by the King’s iciness. Still, he hardly says anything of note—so Minseok really _doesn’t_ care to listen to him—until the table begins to clear out—both Yixing and Sehun leaving the house entirely, whereas the rest just retire to other rooms.

Leaving Kyungsoo and he alone with Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Junmyeon.

“What was it like to conquer T’ike?” Jongdae asks measuredly, his voice betraying nothing.

Minseok looks up, surprised for a moment, almost seeing the question as an extension of interest, as if they will bond over the adrenaline of a battle won. And then, he thinks of what he found in T’ike, and his tongue ties.

Finally, after a pregnant pause, he finds his words. “I imagine, the same feeling as it was to win the Game,” he says, referring to the Coliseum. Jongdae does not flounder, seems to realize immediately what Minseok has pointed out.

“I hope you played by the rules?” Jongdae asks, fire dancing in his eyes.

“Are you asking if I-”

“I’m asking if you treated her with dignity before you killed her,” Jongdae says.

“I didn’t kill her,” Minseok says calmly, taking a sip of the wine at the table. He glances to his side, sees Junmyeon watching him curiously. Baekhyun’s eyes are significantly more glazed, his movements more languid. Even if he could understand their words, he wouldn’t have been able to pay attention. “She was dead by poison by the time we breached the palace. She was burned with her dead.”

Jongdae seems to relax, a great weight lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Beside him, Baekhyun laughs, a low sound, and repeats his words—ignorant of their meaning.

Jongdae leaves them at that point. When he opens the door to the street, Minseok gets another view of the guards outside. Only now does he resolve himself to his captivity in its entirety. He’ll not be escaping a guarded house.

Junmyeon notices this, “There are worse places to be held prisoner.”

“I don’t even know where I’m being held.”

“You’re still in Mutiara. If you paid more attention you’d be able to smell the canals from here, but I understand you’re foreign,” Junmyeon says, ruffling Baekhyun’s hair and coaxing the man to lay down and rest his head in his lap.

“I see,” Minseok says quietly. He looks at Kyungsoo, who seems more intent on looking around at their surroundings than holding any conversation. He returns his gaze to Junmyeon and nods at the purple-smoking pipe. “What’s that?”

“ _Eshesha._ A hallucinogen when taken pure. You can dilute it for gentler highs, though. Baekhyun likes his pure. I’m not as much of a fan.”

“So that’s why he’s already sky high?”

Junmyeon nods, combing through Baekhyun’s hair gently, affectionately. Junmyeon’s a curious man, Minseok decides in that moment. Not so cruel as to treat Minseok like a stranger, but decidedly _not_ on Minseok’s side. It’s interesting considering they’d been fairly friendly back in Ocalle. He admires Junmyeon’s loyalty to his country. Knows already that no promise of riches will sway him to help Minseok escape.

Not that Baekhyun would ever allow that to happen. Now that he’s drugged, his control over his magic seems to have slipped, and it tingles at the edge of Minseok’s fingertips, so tangible that Minseok feels like he could look down and see it. It’s _strong_. He feels the ghost of his own fingers around his neck and thinks that, if he were to try and leave, Baekhyun would be more than capable of subduing him.

At that point, Junmyeon retires, leaving the snoozing Baekhyun alone with Minseok and Kyungsoo, seemingly confident that they will not be able to hurt Baekhyun even though he’s asleep and unguarded.

He’s right, because even though Minseok sizes up the possibilities, killing Baekhyun (if possible) wouldn’t grant them any foreseeable advantage. So, he retires to the pallet that had been set up beneath the place he’d been tied, and he promptly falls back asleep (though only after making sure Kyungsoo has done so before him).

***

They leave the house after about three days, if Minseok were to guess, but he slips so frequently in and out of consciousness that he really can’t be all to sure. All he _does_ know is that once he’s let out of the house (bound by rope once more), they’re on the move.

Baekhyun rides astride a fine-boned horse as black as coal, which Kyungsoo identifies as the Echyoñ breed—built for speed and long distances. The horse is decorated with woven collars that depict the cresting ocean waves, tasseled and flashy. Much like Baekhyun is.

It practically dances underneath Baekhyun’s saddle.

Minseok is helped astride a smaller, younger pony, which is then tethered to Baekhyun’s saddle, connecting them both. Kyungsoo horse is tethered to Junmyeon’s saddle. Jongdae rides in front of them, unhindered as he leads them through Mutiara’s winding streets and archways, and out into the mountainous desert landscape just outside the city.

It’s a difficult ride for the flighty horses—they seem to be better built for a type of open plain—but they do make it through the worst of the climb upwards. And, at the crest of the hill, Minseok finally gets his first unhindered look at Muk’eti—Semma, really—from an elevated perspective. In the distance, if you follow the winding line of the Keykaad River, there’s the tall, golden walls of Melasi.

“Why aren’t we sailing?”

“The Keykaad is low this time of year. We’d be in a passenger boat, which is both smaller and lighter, but… we’d be delayed at each of the ports and gates because of the war. It’s a quicker ride on horses,” Jongdae explains from the front of the line.

“And we are in a rush?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Not a rush, but, I want to get home and begin planning my offensive to take back T’ike and Salina, both of which you left a standing army inside. The sooner I get to plan, the quicker I get an army in the south.”

Minseok groans at the thought. His men will be slaughtered like cattle with no options to retreat. No true general to command them. He can only hope the Valiwyr makes an effort to retrieve them (and give up the cities) before Jongdae marches on the South. “We’ll be making the journey in a day?”

Jongdae looks at him incredulously, “Does that _look_ like a day’s ride? Of course not.”

“It’s just that we don’t carry any packs for food or gear. Do we simply fast until we reach the city. In the heat, I’m afraid we won’t last. After all, we’re not used to the desert,” Minseok says.

“That won’t be an issue,” Jongdae says cryptically before returning his attention to the expanse of desert ahead of them. They start their descent.

By the time they reach the flatland along the desert, Minseok already feels like he’s wilting under the harsh sunlight. He can feel a burn festering on the back of his neck, over his cheeks and nose, and on his forehead. He’s miserable, and Kyungsoo does not seem to be faring much better. On the other hand, Baekhyun seems to _preen_ in the desert conditions, chatting along amicably with Jongdae and Junmyeon, who seem to handle the heat a little worse than Baekhyun, but still leagues better than the two foreigners.

Then, when night begins to darken the skies, Minseok begins to legitimately worry about the state of their shelter for the night. Unless, they plan to travel through the night.

His questions are answered once Baekhyun calls up a ball of light in his hand, illuminating their path. It glints off the backs of snakes and scorpions, so soon, Minseok stops looking where he’s going and closes his eyes, sleeping in the saddle, trusting that his horse will remain tethered to Baekhyun’s.

When he next blinks open his eyes, the sun is rising up in the distance. He still doesn’t feel rested, and would like to stop and sleep _properly_ , but still, the group shows no signs of stopping. Not until the sun is in the middle of the sky, and the scorching heat has returned.

Only then do they slow down.

“ _Ilina’kai_ ,” Baekhyun calls out, almost beckoning. His voice echoes out in the empty desert. Minseok almost wants to cry. He’s surrounded by madmen. “ _Eplat!”_ He calls out.

The sand bubbles, and like a mirage, something begins to rise up from the dunes. After a minute, Minseok realizes it is a building. A massive one at that. It takes several minutes for the entire structure to rise up out of the swirling sand, and once it does, it appears reminiscent of a palace. Or… a Temple.

“I’m still shocked it’s real,” Junmyeon comments at the Temple’s appearance. He repeats himself in the native tongue, to which Baekhyun makes some clipped response—his tone relaying annoyance.

“As am I,” Jongdae agrees from ahead of them, reining his horse aside to allow Baekhyun and Minseok’s to lead the way inside the Temple’s courtyard and up its steps. Inside, the Temple is dressed in greenery and other vibrancies.

Baekhyun says something in his tongue (directions for the rest of the group) and dismounts, leading his horse to the shrubbery, and allowing it to begin grazing. Minseok lets himself down, struggling to keep his balance, but ultimately managing. Kyungsoo is equally lucky to land on his feet, but he does. Jongdae slides out of his saddle and unties them both, letting them stretch their arms. He takes their horses in hand and lead them over to graze alongside Baekhyun’s. And then, he’s directing them around a pillar and up a steep line of stairs.

Baekhyun seems right at home, and, as Kyungsoo explains the mythos behind the Temple Ilina’kai, he’s right to be. “The Temple of Ilina’kai is mostly thought of as a legend all over Muk’eti. The last time it came up in recent history was in 1252, if I remember correctly. And even then, very few people believe _that_ ever happened.” Kyungsoo looks up and around them, awe written out all over his face. Minseok’s similarly impressed as they walk through the first floor, then the second, and finally reach the third floor, which is filled with bedding and other plush cushioning.

“We can rest here,” Jongdae says, looking around. He collapses into the largest bed he sees, bouncing under the cushioning. Minseok takes the bed next to him and sinks into the blankets and pillowing. The beds are decorated with silk blankets and expensive furs. The entire Temple screams wealth, and yet, it’s empty.

“Kyungsoo said the Temple last appeared in 1252?” Minseok asks, curious. Will it disappear while they are inside of it? Should he worry?

Jongdae nods, saying something to Baekhyun, who begins to explain the dynamics of the Temple in that long, mellifluous language of his. With Jongdae translating, “The Temple moves by the will of Sawo Lok. It is a facet of her palace in the mortal realm. I am its attendant and have been my entire life. It may move while we lie inside it, but its movement will not kill you; there’s no need to worry. However, because this is the home of a god, do not disrespect her by speaking other names inside its walls.”

Junmyeon snorts at that, and resolutely looks away from Baekhyun, taking his leave. Baekhyun’s gaze follows him, almost burning in its intensity. Kyungsoo also looks slightly put off by that last sentence. After all, he’s much more devout than Minseok is. Junmyeon notices his discomfort and urges him to follow him elsewhere in the Temple, leaving Minseok alone with the Prince and the Witch.

Baekhyun grins at this, sinking down into the bedding next to Jongdae, but propping his head up on his arms and gazing at Minseok with sparkling eyes. He says something, his tone _almost_ affectionate, and reaches out for Minseok, as if the pet him. Minseok jerks away, eyes narrowing.

Baekhyun’s undeterred, laughing under his breath, and reaching out again, quicker this time, securing his hand around Minseok’s wrist. He jerks him off balance, Minseok falling forward with an _oompf._ When he looks up, Baekhyun’s very close, close enough that Minseok can see the faint freckling on the bridge of his nose, and count the number of eyelashes lining his waterline. “Minseok,” he says, voice thickly accented, so much so that Minseok almost fails to recognize his name. He then says something in Isati.

Minseok glances to Jongdae, hoping for a translation, but instead sees the prince’s face contort. He slaps Baekhyun’s hand away from Minseok and says something quickly, sharply, bruisingly. But Baekhyun only lifts his chin and fires back with the same energy.

Minseok watches the argument interestedly up until Baekhyun grips Jongdae’s chin and leans in to kiss him.

He averts his eyes quickly, putting distance between he and the other two men. His heart races dangerously, anxiety creeping up his neck for no reason other than the open display of affection. Between two men.

Dear _god_.

When he next looks up, Jongdae’s watching him with something akin to worry, never-mind the way Baekhyun mouths down the line of his throat, open, unabashed. “What are you _doing_?” Minseok finally murmurs, shock inflating his words.

Jongdae cocks his head, “Relieving tension? Surely, Velochians aren’t virgins.”

Minseok’s not ready to jump into the heart of his issue, so he only shakes his head, wide-eyed and pushes himself further away. Jongdae catches onto his discomfort, seems to realize it’s more serious now, and pushes Baekhyun away playfully, laughing and placating him with soothing words that wash over and calm even Minseok. “Go pray to your goddess,” Jongdae tells him, in Common, laughing when Baekhyun just stares at him frustratedly. He repeats himself in their shared language, and Baekhyun rolls his eyes.

Still, he’s smart enough to recognize a dismissal and honors Jongdae’s request after stealing another kiss. Now, Jongdae turns his attention back to Minseok, his smile falling away. “It’s not often I see a King shy away from a kiss. What’s wrong?”

Minseok blinks. “In Veloch, you would be stoned.”

“Because we aren’t married?” Jongdae asks, cocking his head. “I know that’s a big deal to you Westerners, but we don’t really do marriage unless it’s for politics,” he says. But that’s not it.

“Because you’re men,” Minseok says bluntly. “Men cannot lie with men.”

Jongdae’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “I happen to know on good conscience that men _can_ lie with men,” he says, voice just shy of teasing. “But, why not.”

“The Tenants of Lij don’t allow it. It goes against the natural order of things.”

“Baekhyun was serious about not mentioning other gods here, so don’t do that again. But, if it’s unnatural, then why have I loved men since I was a boy. It’s not something I chose, if that’s your implication?”

“You can choose not to _act_ on it,” Minseok murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw setting. It’s a long argument, this one. “You can always choose not to act on it,” he repeats, half speaking to Jongdae, half to himself.

And because Jongdae is sharp, he catches this. The tone of the room instantly shifts. “You’re afraid,” Jongdae says, “Not disgusted. You’re afraid.” His voice softens along with his expression. “We don’t stone lovers here,” he says.

Minseok looks away, shaking his head. “Please, just, leave me alone,” he says. “I’m your prisoner, not your friend. And affection is best left in private anyways, isn’t it?”

The sound Jongdae lets out says he’d disagree, but he doesn’t force Minseok to continue talking. Instead, he too stands up and leaves the room, Baekhyun’s name on his lips. And Minseok, left in the silence, closes his eyes and allows himself to fall asleep.

***

He wakes up when it’s lilac outside—the faint purple-grey of twilight—and cold. It’s morning. Or at least, shortly _before_ morning. Minseok looks around himself, his hair tussled and tangled from his days of captivity, roving over sleeping bodies.

Finally falling on Baekhyun and Jongdae, naked and tangled together unabashedly. Jongdae sleeps soundly, but, with a start, Minseok realizes that Baekhyun is awake and watching him, his eyes glinting in the low-light spilling through the window panels. _“Hello,”_ Baekhyun greets him. Minseok repeats the foreign word, nodding in acknowledgement. Baekhyun says something else, to which Minseok shrugs, tapping his ear to remind Baekhyun that they _can’t_ communicate with words.

Baekhyun stands up, Minseok’s eyes trailing down his body as he does so, watching as each line of lean muscle is revealed. Baekhyun’s truly built for the type of combat Muk’etins have always favored. His body’s built like Jongdae’s in that it’s quick and lithe, but his broad-shoulders and more defined chest suggest that he’s just as skilled with heavy-handed weapons. He’s adaptive.

He holds out a hand (decorated with golden rings) for Minseok to take. He does, letting the witch pull him onto his feet. And then he leads Minseok down to the first floor, and through a few hallways. Eventually, the Temple opens up into a larger room—a bathhouse.

Baekhyun tugs coaxingly at his shirt, and, after a beat of hesitation, Minseok shimmies it over his head. Baekhyun similarly tugs at the strings of his pants, to which Minseok is much more loathe to leave behind, but Baekhyun’s as naked as the day he was born, so Minseok really has nothing to be embarrassed of.

He steps out of his pants, flinching when Baekhyun grabs his hand again and leads him further into the room, directly towards a large, steaming pool in the center of the room. He steps into the water first, testing it with his toe, and then trudging in bodily—sinking into the hot water all the way up to his chin, letting out a long sigh as he does so.

Minseok follows him belatedly, though his body _sings_ at the feeling of hot water cascading over his shoulders. He realizes now that he’s inside the pool that it seems to be natural, like one of the hot springs you could find in Airabard. It’s familiar enough that Minseok truly feels at peace for once, his eyes closing as he leans against the edge of the pool.

A hand around his foot startles him back awake, several minutes later. Baekhyun’s hand don’t creep any higher, instead, he massages the arch of Minseok’s foot, working out the tension. Minseok sighs at the movement, smiling at Baekhyun in thanks.

While he massages Minseok, Baekhyun talks. Obviously, not expecting an answer, but he talks all the same. It makes the situation a little more natural, hearing someone talk and not having to sit in abject silence.

In time, the others come and join them. First Jongdae, then Junmyeon and Kyungsoo, all of them stripping down and slipping into the pool. Baekhyun leaves Minseok to his own devices and settles in front of Junmyeon, offering Junmyeon his shoulders to massage.

After that, they redress themselves, and ready the horses. They’re tied up again, but loosely, and their horses remain tethered (though now Minseok has been tied to Jongdae’s horse, and Kyungsoo remains with Junmyeon). When they leave, Baekhyun lags behind. As Minseok watches, Baekhyun raises on of his palms up to the sky, and then swings it down. Following the motion of his arm, the Temple crumbles into nothing, becoming sand once more, lost to the wind.

Then, Baekhyun streaks ahead of them, urging his horse into a proper gallop. They follow belatedly, the tethers making it more difficult to pace themselves, but, eventually they are all racing along with the desert, Minseok holding onto his horse’s mane for dear life, legs squeezed against its side, struggling to properly seat its gallop. Once he gets used to it though, he opens his mouth, grinning at the elation that having the wind in his hair, the rushing ground beneath his feet brings him. He feels alive.

He can’t remember the last time he got to run like this. Maybe in Airabard, when he and Minkyung would race across the tundra—but even then, the ice made it so that they couldn’t run as fast as this.

Kyungsoo’s not nearly as elated, far more fond of being on his own two feet, or walking at a bearable pace. Minseok almost wants to ask that they slow down for his sake, but the feeling of wind rushing over his face is too nice to give up. Kyungsoo will just have to forgive him.

Besides, at this pace, they _will_ be reaching Melasi quite soon. Minseok’s almost positive that the Temple moved in the night, but he can’t confirm his theory. Perhaps Baekhyun will mention it one day.

Minseok turns his gaze forward, looking out at the great city on the horizon. His heart racing. He could be racing to his execution at this very second, but for now… for now he feels alive. For now, he feels _free_.


	3. The Rise of the Carisine

**The Year 1278;**

**The City Melasi, Semma**

Melasi is a culture-shock in the most curious of ways. The first is that, once the gates are opened to let them inside, the streets _fill_ with people—and, it’s fairly orderly even so. Very little jostling occurs, even as people reach out towards their Prince and his horse. The second thing he notices is that the people, though some appear poorer and others richer, stand side by side, skin to skin. The class difference doesn’t seem as stark here, at least by way of attitude, as it does in the Valiwyr Kingdoms. Everyone’s clothes are looser, more sheer, and some people only wear a thin skirt to cover their nether-regions. Minseok, from a place where conservative styles are most common resultant of both the colder temperatures and the more restrictive religion, finds he feels a bit prudish in comparison to the people.

The third thing he notices is that Melasi is _massive_ in a way Minseok never would have expected. Everything is larger than life, and buildings are built atop one another, crowded in together. They’re walking down the main street, which, in the distance, leads up to the Coliseum, and it may just be that this one particular neighborhood is more crowded, more dense than the rest of the city, but… it seems to be that Melasi in general is just huge.

“How many people even live here?” Minseok murmurs, looking around wide-eyed.

Junmyeon rolls his neck, easing out some knots, “Roughly a million.”

Minseok’s jaw drops. “There’s only around five hundred thousand in all of the Valiwyr kingdoms combined,” he murmurs.

“Veloch is a small nation in comparison to Semma,” Junmyeon says. “Melasi is a million, Salina holds around eight hundred thousand, and the remaining kingdoms of Semma all have more than three hundred thousand each. You are lucky that Muk’etins have never had more than a passing interest in your territories. We could take it if we so wished.”

“And yet you haven’t,” Minseok says.

“That may change soon,” Junmyeon says simply, returning his gaze to the road ahead of them. Minseok cocks his head, slightly alarmed by the suggestion of an invasion into his homeland, but does the same, turning his attention to the approaching Coliseum.

It’s roaring with noise. Streams of people going in and out.

Jongdae leads them through the main archway, down through a dark tunnel echoing with the noise from the amphitheater above them.

And then, they’re walking through a gateway, guards standing on either side.

If the Coliseum had been loud before, now it explodes, people standing and stamping their feet. Minseok blinks against the sunlight, then looks around, eager to get a handle of his surroundings. Jongdae trots the horses all the way up to the Royal’s Box, sitting at the center of the arena, directly opposite of what looks to be the Champion’s Gate. Minseok’s only ever heard of this place from letters and ambassadors, so seeing it is difficult to quantify, but… he can see why his sister would have been drawn to this place.

Jongdae dismounts in front of the Royal’s box and falls to his knees in the sand. Junmyeon does the same, tugging both Kyungsoo and Minseok down from their horses with him, bringing them to their knees as well. Minseok bristles. He would not kneel if he were not forced.

Baekhyun doesn’t kneel.

In front of them, a woman stands up from the box, her golden skin _glowing_ in the sunlight. Her hair is black, peppered with grey, and her face is severe. She’s bedecked in jewelry, so much so that even the Queens in Veloch would not be able to compare to how much she dazzles.

“Prince Jongdae,” she greets in Common. She doesn’t raise her voice much. Her words are simply amplified, impossibly loud, obviously the result of magic. “I see the defense of Mutiara was successful?”

“Yes, Carisina,” Jongdae says, “The Witch was instrumental in our victory.” He motions to Baekhyun, who, recognizing his title, tilts his chin (almost defiantly), his eyes glinting when the meet the Carisina’s.

“Then, he has my thanks. And the thanks of all Melasi. What have you brought home?”

Jongdae stands, walking over to where Kyungsoo and Minseok kneel in the sand. “I bring you the Blood of Airabard, the King of the Valiwyr, His Majesty Minseok,” Jongdae says, amplifying his voice so that even the people of the Coliseum can hear it. Their voices rise into a din of true delight.

The Carisina’s lips press into a fine line as she directs her gaze onto Minseok. He meets her eyes with gleaming defiance, almost mirroring the look Baekhyun had given her. He makes no effort to smile at her, to put her at ease. He has been treated well, but he is a King, and she, as the Carisina, best put him down before he revolts.

“What do you propose we do with him, my Prince?” She asks. The Coliseum seems to hold its breath.

“I’d like to keep him as my prisoner. When it comes time for me to take Veloch, I want to have him at my tail.”

“He will stab you in the back,” the Carisina says simply, “But, if that is your wish… it is granted.” She turns to Baekhyun. “What do you want for your valor, Witch?” Junmyeon translates for him.

Whatever Baekhyun says sends a rolling gasp through the Coliseum. Even the Carisina, who had asked him, takes a step back, her countenance faltering and showing a quick face of fear.Junmyeon seems to shocked to translate it in the moment. And by the time he regains himself, the Carisina is smoothing her expression over, and inclines her head ever so slightly. “Then, it is done.”

Jongdae immediately begins to shake his head, but Junmyeon merely grabs his arm and pulls him up into the Royal’s Box, tugging Kyungsoo and Minseok along with them. They are made to stand at the back of the box, behind all of the Kwatis in attendance, Junmyeon beside them. Jongdae argues with his mother for several minutes, and then, he steps back and watches as the Carisina lets herself down into the arena.

The arena in which Baekhyun still sits astride his dancing black horse. It stomps under his weight, as if it’s ready to jump out of its skin. It’s a powerful horse, an energetic one, and the way Baekhyun holds it in place tells Minseok that he’s about to see the horse put to work.

The Carisina swings herself up into the saddle of Jongdae’s steed, settling into the leather. A guard holds out a long, wickedly curved spear for her to take, and she grips it in hand. A pair of attendants grab the remaining horses’ leads and usher them out of the arena.

“What did Baekhyun ask for?” Minseok murmurs, confusion lacing his voice. Junmyeon glances at him, but Kyungsoo’s the one to translate.

“He asked to fight the Carisina for her Crown—as Champion for the Prince.”

Minseok’s mouth runs dry and he returns his gaze to the scene ahead. Baekhyun’s reined his horse out into the middle of the arena, and there he waits, his whip gripped in hand. The Carisina takes her time situating herself, and then, she too rides out, keeping her distance from the Witch, but nonetheless readying herself for the battle.

The Coliseum is _silent_.

Baekhyun is not one for patience, even only having been with him for a few days, Minseok knows this much. The witch is brash, impatient, abrasive. He’s cocky. He’s the first to attack, kicking his horse into a jolting run.

He wields his whip with bruising accuracy. The first hit opens a long red line against the Carisina’s thigh, breaking through even her thin, silken dress. But, she meets him in kind, swinging her blade around with the speed and grace of a dancer. It hits the top of his hand and opens a gaping wound in his arm, even though it was a glancing blow.

But, a fight against a witch is not a fair fight. The next time Baekhyun wheels his horse around and prepares to charge, a mirror image of horse and rider appears next to him, and then peels away from him.

After a few turns circling the Carisina, it’s impossible to know which one is the illusion, and which one is the _real_ witch.

The Carisina makes her choice, charging and swinging at one of the images. She chooses the wrong one, and the illusion melts under her blade. The real Baekhyun rides towards her back, his whip flying through the air, wrapping against her blade arm and dragging her off of her horse.

She hits the ground with a thud. Next to him, Junmyeon gasps.

Minseok’s own heart _pounds_.

But, the Carisina stills rises up. She screams during her next attack, bringing her blade slicing towards Baekhyun’s horse’s flanks, an attempt to hamstring the animal. It barely misses.

Baekhyun strikes with the whip again, cutting into her leg, dragging her off balance once more. The sand around them bubbles, swirling at the presence of magic.

The fight continues like this. The Carisina lands a few more hits, but even with the weight of her blade, Baekhyun maneuvers himself in such a way that her hits always glide off his skin. Cutting and sometimes tearing, yes, but not maiming or slaughtering.

Eventually, he drops out of his saddle and meets the Carisina on foot, fighting forwards in such a way that she’s forced backwards.

She stumbles, knees hitting the dirt. Everything happens quickly from that point on. Baekhyun lands a solid kick to her shoulder, knocking her onto her back and the blade out of her hand. He steps on her throat, pinning her in place. And then, he looks to Jongdae, shouting something.

No one translates, but they don’t need to. Because, in the next moment, Jongdae’s delivering a final nod and Baekhyun has run the Carisina through with his sabre.

It’s silent in the Coliseum, and then, the stands begin to fall to their knees. One of the Kwatis stands up and grips Jongdae’s wrist in her hand. She raises it up over his head, and, in a commanding voice, proclaims him Carisine of Melasi.

In the arena, Baekhyun makes a motion above the Carisina’s corpse. The body’s bones seem to break and warp, and then, feathers sprout all over it. Within a minute, a beautiful falcon stands in the place the Carisina had fallen. Baekhyun picks it up and throws it to the sky.

And then, Baekhyun kneels.

***

Minseok and Kyungsoo are brought to a section of the palace that, while fairly lavish, is a glorified prison. They are locked into their respective wing, but, they have access to a library, a courtyard, and a bath in addition to their separate bedrooms. They stay there, without visitors, for nearly a week while Jongdae and company handle his ascent to the Throne.

His first visitor is Baekhyun, who talks to Minseok as if it’s amusing that Minseok can’t understand him. He won’t even allow Kyungsoo to translate, often lapsing into silence whenever Minseok’s advisor accompanies them. Soon enough, Kyungsoo understands that he’s not welcome, and resigns himself to studying in the library whenever Baekhyun comes around (which really, doesn’t bother him too much. He’s learning much more than he’d been able to in Pichy).

This time, Baekhyun appears with food in hand. He leaves one platter of fruits with Kyungsoo in the library, then beckons for Minseok to accompany him into the courtyard garden with the other platter in hand. There, he places it on the ground and they both sit down to eat from it. Baekhyun talks. Minseok listens. In addition to food, he has several books in hand. Some, Minseok notes curiously, regard the West (Veloch, the Middle Passage, and the Southern Merchant Cities).

One of the books, he can read the title of—it’s in Wyrword, the language of the Wyrms. Noticing this, he grins, and reads it aloud.

Baekhyun’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “You speak Wyrword?!”

“You speak Wyrword?” Minseok repeats, equally shocked, straightening up. “Most Westerners don’t even speak it, why would I assume you could?” he continues, flustered.

“Wyrword is one of the Gods’ tongues. Sawo Lok’s native tongue is Isati, Ilina’kai speaks Nech’i, Brutedat speaks Brutish, and Cael speaks the Wyrm’s Word,” Baekhyun lists, blinking. “Lij has been the False God of Veloch for millennia. There’s no reason for _you_ to speak Wyrword,” he counters.

Minseok chews the inside of his lip, weighing his options. “Don’t speak of this to anyone,” he prefaces. Baekhyun arches a brow, but, Minseok’s already decided that the witch is… _mostly_ trustworthy (in that he won’t tell secrets that don’t need to be told).

He concentrates. It’s been _so long_ since he’s ever even attempted to reach for it. But, eventually, he finds it. Opening his palm, a snowflake begins to spiral just above his skin, swirling and growing into a solid icicle, which he grips in hand, then offers out the Baekhyun.

Baekhyun takes it from his hand, grinning. Then, he looks back at Minseok. “Is that why they called you the Corpse King?”

“Because my skin was always cold to the touch, even next to a fire. And I’d survive even in the heaviest blizzards, in the most difficult conditions. They said I was like a living corpse.”

“How grotesque,” Baekhyun murmurs. He crushes the icicle in his hand, flicking the shards of ice off his palm and into the garden. He reaches out for the platter and plucks off a grape, popping it into his mouth. “I wonder what your people would say if they knew their King were a witch?”

“My sister knew. And maybe, long ago, my mother did too. But, I learned quickly not to talk about it if I wanted to survive. I didn’t imagine I’d ever become king.”

“Jongdae, was considered bad luck when he was born. He came with a hurricane, flooded out half of the city’s crops, drowned some districts. His mother would have killed him had I not given her a prophecy a year prior.”

Minseok cocks his head at this. Baekhyun looks the same age as Jongdae, who is younger than Minseok is. “How old are you to have been able to prophecy Jongdae’s birth?”

Baekhyun grins, “Ilina’kai will keep their secrets… but, age… it’s not as linear for me as it may be for you and Jongdae. Let’s leave it at that.” Then, he stretches, “but, back to your magic. You should practice it. You’ll not be returning home, so it’s not like you have to fear being hanged or burned at the stake.”

“I don’t know how to practice it,” Minseok says simply.

Baekhyun blinks, “You need to find your faith first. Mine lies in the Nech’i Pantheon—Sawo Lok, Ilina’kai, Spash’e, T’ibebe. Jongdae believes in the Keykaads, specifically Torinet’i, as well as Sawo Lok. You should find your god.” He regards Minseok for a moment. “I’d suggest Cael,” he says finally, smiling and finding his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” Minseok says, almost disappointed to be left with just Kyungsoo once more—not that he doesn’t like his advisor.

“I have people to check up with. Little birds that will help Jongdae keep ahold of his power,” he pauses, then nods at the books he’d left on the ground, “You should read the one in Wyrword. It’s about Old Velach, before the Ocallians invaded it with their foreign god.”

And then, he leaves.

Minseok flips open the book and is immediately greeted with an illustration of the Valiwyr Gods. Cael stands tallest, crowned with ice and wrapped in fur. Below her, there are the Wyrie Sisters, similar to the Fates, and below them are the natural gods (Brutedat, Biks, So, Bond, Yeyuts, and so forth). Minseok traces his finger along their faces, hit with a wave of nostalgia for things he’s never even _known_.

He opens to the first chapter, which relays the size of Old Velach and the peoples that could be found inside its territory. It’s all the type of reading that would bore a young student, and yet… Minseok can’t help it. He gets to reading immediately.

***

When Jongdae visits him, the first thing Minseok asks him is if he’s all right. Which surprises _both_ of them, because Minseok didn’t think _he_ cared, and Jongdae certainly thought the same.

“Am I all right about what?” Jongdae asks, arching a brow as he takes a seat in the courtyard garden (which has now become Minseok’s favorite place to read and practice calling his magic to hand).

“Your mother. The Carisina…” Minseok says slowly, watching Jongdae’s face for any change in countenance.

But Jongdae only sighs. “Have you ever heard of the Carisina’s Prophecy. The Prophecy of Storms?”

Minseok shakes his head.

Jongdae plucks a grape from the platter Baekhyun had brought Minseok on his most recent visit and searches for the best way to explain. “The Prophecy of Storms was delivered to my mother a year before my birth. It named a prince that would command lightning—a great conqueror who would die before he became Carisine, but who _would_ become Carisine. This prince was prophesied to bring prosperity to _Irida_. As a whole. He was to bring about the Golden Age of Muk’eti. The Golden Age of Irida itself.”

He shrugs, chewing thoughtfully, “The witch who delivered the prophecy told the Carisina that, when the time came for the prince to pursue his birthright, she would die by the witch’s blade. So, we knew the time would come. I always… knew Baekhyun would be the one to give me my crown. So, I was prepared. I’m… all right, is what I’m saying.” Silence follows his words. Minseok really doesn’t have anything to say about it all.

Jongdae realizes this, and quickly changes the subject. He points at Minseok’s open book. “What’s that?”

“A book about Old Velach. Baekhyun brought it to me.”

“You can read it?”

“It’s in Wyrword, so yes,” Minseok says. Jongdae lets out a little _ah_ of understanding, but doesn’t ask any more about it, seemingly satisfied with what little information Minseok gave him.

“We’ll be leaving in a couple of days,” is what he ends up saying. “We’re going to T’ike and then, after its liberation, immediately to Salina. After that, I’ll be leading a small army further south, through the Isati and into the Salt Cities and Ch’ewi. They’ll either surrender to Semma, or we will conquer them.”

“And where will I be going?”

“You’ll be coming with me. Junmyeon is ruling in my stead, Kyungsoo will be staying here as well. But, you’re famous for your battle strategy and I’d like to have you alongside me.”

“We are enemies. Are you sure you wish to trust me?”

“ _Your_ _Kingdoms_ have already elected a new King. Are you _really_ going to be loyal to them? When we expressed handing you over for the release of our two cities in the South, they told me I could execute you for all they cared,” Jongdae hisses, his expression angry.

Minseok shakes his head, “I love my home.”

“You can love your homeland, even love your people, without loving the snakes that poison it. Come with me and you can influence my hand. I don’t want to kill innocent men.”

“You want to be a conqueror. You will kill them.”

Jongdae falls silent. “Think on it, please. I won’t force you to accompany me, but, once I leave, you’ll remain a prisoner here in the palace. If I don’t return, my sisters will likely execute you just to spit at your patriots.”

He leaves.

***

Two weeks later, Minseok watches as T’ike returns to Melasin hands. A week after that, and they reclaim Salina as well. Always decisively. Jongdae’s a military mastermind, and with Minseok teaching him about the Valiwyr fighting tactics, he’s easily tearing apart their defenses. It also helps that in T’ike, the people had begun to fight back from inside the city, and that, in Salina, because the city was found barren, the Valiwyr forces don’t make much effort to keep it.

Jongdae chases them back to their ships and watches them set upon the Middle Sea. And so, all of Semma’s Seven Kingdoms return to her. At that point, the quest becomes moving South.

Minseok gazes down at the table-length map set before him. It’s the first he’s seen a detailed map of Muk’eti. The continent is far larger than Veloch, and stretches all the way down into Southern Irida. Baekhyun places a pawn inside the Isati Desert. Jongdae looks at it, then says, “That’s where _Kangksop_ sits, isn’t it?” Jongin, who sits off to the side, glances at it, then nods. Jongdae realizes belatedly he’d spoken in Common. He’d grown used to it having Minseok around all the time.

Baekhyun continues, explaining something to Jongdae. He draws a perimeter around the pawn, then makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “All right, so we’ll avoid Kangksop.”

“Why? Wouldn’t they make good guides?”

“Baekhyun says they’ve grown more violent through the years. I don’t want to invite chaos into my army. The problem with avoiding them is that they sit on the largest oasis inside the Isati. Since we’ll be avoiding them, it means we have to keep thousands of men fed and watered through several hundred miles of desert land.”

“So, leave the thousands behind. Take maybe fifty good fighters, give them horses, and take them South.”

“You’ll siege a city with only fifty fighters?” Jongin asks incredulously. But, Jongdae stays quiet, looking down at the map thoughtfully.

Minseok steps up to the map, taking a good look at the Salt Cities. “Take Nu’lan and the others will surrender. Then, at Ch’ewi-”

“Send the Witch inside at Ch’ewi,” Jongin interrupts. Minseok glances at him. Jongin’s really only accompanying them because he—like Baekhyun—is from the Isati Desert. He’s also a trained politician, and will be remaining in Salina after Jongdae leaves, acting as the new Kwati. Minseok had originally thought that Jongin didn’t speak Common, but he was in fact, just shy at the time. “Most of their people worship Sawo Lok. And, Baekhyun used to _rule_ there, so, you may as well just reinstate him.”

“You ruled?” Minseok asks Baekhyun, switching tongues. Baekhyun drags his gaze off the table and onto Minseok, arching a brow quizzically.

“Context?” He reminds. Minseok explains. Baekhyun sighs, “Ch’ewi was a religious state prior to the Three Merchant Families that now rule it. I left the city in order to deliver the Carisina’s Propechy. I’ve yet to return.”

“How much of a fight will they put up to you?”

“They’d have to begrudgingly let me in. Otherwise the people would riot. At that point, I’d have them executed.”

This turns Minseok’s stomach. “You can’t exile them?”

“If I exile them, the second Jongdae instates a governor in Ch’ewi and leaves, they will return and take the city back,” Baekhyun explains simply. He shrugs. “They’ve lived a long life, and a cruel one at that. Hanging them would be a mercy considering what I _could_ try them for.”

Minseok looks away, then, in Common, mutters, “I hate zealots.”

Jongdae snorts. “What’d he say?”

“He could take back Ch’ewi, but he’d have to do a cleansing. I asked if there was an alternative, but… there isn’t.”

“There are always casualties in war,” Jongdae says seriously, “at best, we try and preserve the innocent men and condemn the criminals. But, it’s not always possible.”

Minseok nods. He’s played his hand as King. He’s more than familiar with such a style of thinking. It doesn’t mean he’s not going to mourn the carnage he creates.

Three weeks later sees them standing outside of Ch’ewi, the City on the Cliff. It gleams in the harsh desert light. The soldiers at the wall make no effort to open its gates to Jongdae, even after he’s identified himself.

So, Baekhyun steps forward and, chanting that musical song of his, raises Ilina’kai up from the sand. Now, they have the soldiers’ attention. Still, though, the gates do not open. Instead of pressing, Baekhyun urges Jongdae and his men inside of the Temple to wait.

The soldiers are housed on the third and fourth floor of the Temple. Baekhyun leads Minseok and Jongdae up further, skipping the fifth floor and the sixth floor, and finally, leading them out onto the seventh floor—the last floor.

Here, Minseok is almost convinced he’s left the mortal world and stepped into some wild fantasy. He keeps seeing things flitting about in the corner of his eyes, and the shadows cast by the walls seem to move as if they were alive. The level itself is rather barren. It has a place for sleeping, a pile of cushions, blankets, and fur, and it has its own garden, but otherwise, very little decorates this space. It is mostly open air windows that let in the scent and the heat of the desert.

Baekhyun plucks them fruits from the garden and brings it over to them so that they might share a meal. It’s at times like these that Minseok profoundly wished Baekhyun spoke Common, because as it is, the three of them do not _have_ a common language with which to converse.

It makes the conversation broken and disjointed, but, their spirits remain high. Sometimes, he and Baekhyun will go on a tangent and Jongdae will whine to have it translated. Other times, it’s Minseok and Jongdae, or Jongdae and Baekhyun. It gets so chaotic at one point that Baekhyun begins naming the languages he speaks to see if there’s at all a common thread.

“Nech’i?” _No._ “Brutish?” Minseok nods, but Jongdae shakes his head, snorting. Baekhyun pauses, thinking. He’s obviously already ruled out Isati and Wyrword, given that those are the two they’ve been using. But then, his eyes light up. “Lorrae?” He asks.

Jongdae blinks. “I studied it when I was much, much younger,” he says in an accent.

Minseok grins, “I learned it because all of the old Lorraini military books were written in Lorrae.”

“Lori was an old servant-god,” Baekhyun explains. He has no accent when speaking Lorrae, which surprises Minseok, but then again, Baekhyun doesn’t speak any of the Gods’ Languages with an accent—in fact, he speaks all of them as if he were their native speaker.

“We should have compared languages the first day we met,” Jongdae says, stretching his hands above his head. “It’d have saved us so much confusion. I was about to lose my mind having to repeat myself so often.”

“The first day we met, we were enemies,” Minseok says.

Baekhyun grins, eyes glinting, “You say that as if you’ve finally decided we’re _not_ enemies now.”

Minseok flounders, lips parting, but no words coming out. Then, “We’re not friends.”

Baekhyun’s grin widens and he crawls forward, setting down the pomegranate in his hand in favor of lacing his fingers with Minseok’s, getting all up in Minseok’s space. “Is there something about _us_?” He breathes curiously.

Jongdae comes to his rescue, gently tugging Baekhyun back, sitting him against his chest, where he wraps his arm around Baekhyun and holds him in place. But, he’s smiling as Minseok nods.

“I can respect you,” Minseok says simply.

***

Three days later, Ch’ewi swings open its gates. When Minseok wakes up, Baekhyun’s sitting at the window, watching them open—dressed in finery that Minseok’s never even seen before.

“You look… dressed up,” Minseok comments, regarding Baekhyun curiously. His hair’s plaited with gold and ruby-colored string, and tied in an intricate knot at the top of his head—two strands left loose to frame his face. He wears makeup, a moody sort of red that amplifies the otherworldly look his iridescent eyes already give off, and jewelry—a nose ring and two attached chains that clip to long, dangly gold earrings that glint in the morning sunlight.

He wears robes as well, which is probably the most conservative Minseok’s ever seen him dress. But even though he’s covered from the neck down, the robes are sheer, sometimes entirely see-through. When Baekhyun stands, turning to face Minseok, the fabric shifts, a kaleidoscope of colors glimmering and shimmering in the sunlight. “I will be worshipped here,” he says simply, “It’s best I look the part of a god.”

“Is that what they think you are?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, rather, he brushes past Minseok, who follows behind him interestedly.

Jongdae waits at the Temple steps, staring out at the open gates. Baekhyun breezes past him and vaults himself onto his ebony horse’s back, forgoing a saddle. The horse, attuned to its rider, immediately turns under the slightest shift of his body, and begins to walk towards the city.

Jongdae gives the orders to their soldiers. Get up, get on your horses, and follow him.

They catch up to him in a few minutes, at which point, Baekhyun urges his horse into a canter.

They enter the city in a thunder of hooves. People watch from balconies and porches, staring openly at the foreign soldiers. “Ch’ewi, like most cities South of the Isati, has never been conquered,” Baekhyun explains as they ride through, his robes fluttering behind him gallantly. “This is a city you need to respect, Carisine. It was the Original City of Muk’eti. Many gods will take offense if you run it to ruin.”

“If it is the city of the gods, how did you come to rule it?” Jongdae quips teasingly. Baekhyun glances behind him, grinning as his eyes flash.

If anyone were to rule such a city, Minseok thinks, it would be Baekhyun. “How long has it been since you’ve ruled here?” Minseok asks.

“I left to deliver a prophecy a year before Jongdae’s birth. I imagine most anyone younger than he will not know who I am. But their parents will, and their parents parents will know me,” Baekhyun says smoothly, reining his horse to a stop. They stand at the base of a raised pavilion, people filing into the square all around them—packing together like sardines. Baekhyun makes a motion for both Minseok and Jongdae to wait, then, he guides his horse up the pavilion steps, turning her in a slow circle at the top. A soldier, Yukhei, stands at Minseok’s side and begins to translate for him, giving Minseok context for the scene.

“Where are the Three Merchants?” Baekhyun calls out.

A murmur passes through the crowd until a man robed in the same iridescent colors Baekhyun himself wears steps forward. He’s dressed in gold jewelery, just as Baekhyun is. Minseok guesses that he’s a priest, or at least someone from the same religious sect as Baekhyun. “They were removed,” he says cryptically, his voice ringing out in the silence.

Baekhyun nods, “Good. They were false rulers. Men who did not fear the Gods.”

Again, the crowd mumbles. Many of them are young. Baekhyun is a stranger to them. “I bring you your _true_ ruler today,” he says, voice impossibly loud. He motions to Jongdae, who slides out of his horse’s saddle and walks up the pavilion steps, looking small against Baekhyun and his mount.

The crowd is not pleased. Jongdae is obviously foreign, by manner and dress. With short-cropped hair and a clean-shaven face, already, he stands apart from the regular Ch’ewin. They begin to shout, jostling amongst themselves.

Minseok can _feel_ Baekhyun’s rising impatience.

Baekhyun raises his hand to the sky, palm open, eyes focused on the distant sun. The sunlight glints then and begins to mold itself into a shape.

This quiets them as they watch the spectacle.

Baekhyun gradually lowers his palm, and, the shape in the sky falls from it, embedding deep into the sandstone pavilion. It’s a wicked blade—sword-like, but as long as a spear. The craftsmanship is beautiful, almost _divine._

From the crack in the stone, water bubbles forth.

Baekhyun watches as it begins to run in rivulets down to the edge of the pavilion. Then, he turns to one of the first detractors. “Taste it,” he commands, nodding to the water. The commoner glares at him for several long beats—he’s one of the young ones yet to have met Baekhyun—before finally stepping forward and cupping his hands beneath the trickle of water.

He brings it to his lips and immediately spits it out.

“Sawo Lok, Queen of Salt, _chose_ him,” Baekhyun says, eyes glinting dangerously. “You will _serve_ him.”

He turns to Jongdae, who, understanding his meaning, steps forward and draws the sword from the stone, holding it deftly in his grip. “If you have any resentment, you are welcome to challenge him as if our custom. I will not stop you, but I’ve warned you. He is the One Who Was Prophesied. You will die by his hand,” Baekhyun continues.

And then, he kneels. It’s only the second time Minseok has ever seen Baekhyun go down to his knees. He’s a proud man, after all, and it appears Jongdae is the only one he is willingly subservient to.

Minseok does not kneel, but the soldiers follow a second later, and then, slowly, in a great ripple, the people in the square _also_ kneel.

All except an old woman, one who addresses Baekhyun without fear, “ _Sachyred Lokspoye._ ”

Baekhyun rises up and turns to look at her, his gaze open and without malice. Recognition flashes through his features. They must remember one another.

“You swore you would never kneel to any mortal king,” she calls, “have you abandoned your devotion?”

But Baekhyun only straightens up, his grin almost feral. “I kneel to Sawo Lok,” he says, voice ringing out. He does not elaborate, merely holding the old woman’s stare until she too bows her head in submission.

Baekhyun turns, lifting himself back onto his horse’s back, and leads the way as Jongdae walks through the streets and meets his new people.

***

For all the theatrics upon their entrance to the city, it takes just under a week for the people to begin rioting. And Baekhyun offers Jongdae no help in containing it. In fact, when Jongdae had initially been briefed on the situation, and had turned to look at Baekhyun for advice, the only thing the witch had done was shrug and cock his head. The unsaid, “Don’t look at me,” blatant.

Which leaves Jongdae distracted and, like what had happened in Melasi, Minseok is left alone with Baekhyun.

“Why do you always come keep me company?” He asks a few days in. He’s spread a book over his lap. It’s an ancient explorers observations of Southern Muk’eti. It happens to be written in Wyrword. Baekhyun hasn’t said anything yet, has merely been reading a book of his own (which is about four times the size of Minseok’s, and decorated with gold across the cover and all of the pages).

“I don’t normally get to meet Westerners,” Baekhyun says, “ _And_ while I would like to be walking around my city at the moment, Jongdae has problems to solve on his own, and it’s best I not create even more mayhem.”

“You’ve already met me, Baekhyun. And reading next to me is hardly _talking_ to me,” Minseok points out, looking back down at his book.

He hears Baekhyun close his with a _thud_ , and then the shift of clothing as Baekhyun leans closer, folding his hands in his lap. “Then tell me about yourself. You were the king of a land that banned the old gods, but you know Wyrword. Without even knowing your gods. How’s that?”

“When I found my magic, I made an effort to try and learn about the god that bestowed it. Lij would see witches burned at the stake. But… the Old Gods considered it a blessing to give mortals a magic. I learned the language in books left in the forbidden sector of the library, but I never learned much of the gods. Those _were_ burned.”

“Would you like me to tell you about them? All of them?” Baekhyun asks, his eyes sparkling. Minseok thinks, the book he’d read back in Melasi had only described the Valiwyr Pantheon.

He nods, agreeing to hear the stories as Baekhyun knows them, “Please, tell me about them.”

Baekhyun sets the scene at first, describing an oblivion in which all things _are_ but have yet to _be._ He describes it as a paradox, something that has to simply be understood for what it is—otherwise, it makes no sense. Especially considering that humans are bound to a singular existence, a singular understanding of life and being. Gods… are not the same, he describes. They are beings that can exist in multiple capacities, in multiple timelines, in multiple vessels, all at once. They are boundless.

“What’s curious is that, the creator gods, Brutedat and Spewska are not the eldest gods, nor are they the gods associated with creation today,” Baekhyun says. “The original three primordial gods were Ai Lok, Cael Lok, and Ilina’kai. All of whom are regarded as the creator gods today—which is why they are typically imagined as females. Maternity and creation are closely linked. People like the familiarity.”

Minseok cocks his head, “Ai Lok?” It’s the only unfamiliar name. “Is that your god?”

“Yes. Sawo Lok has many names,” Baekhyun says, “We call them the Queen of Salt today, but their name was originally the Queen of Storms. And even the word ‘ _lok_ ’ is… a misnomer. It’s meaning is closer to ‘origin’ or simply… ‘being’ and storm was meant to describe general unpredicatbility. Their name simply means they are the essence of unpredictability. Same as how Cael means Judge in Wyrword. Cael is merely a more ordered god, whose name, in essence, means they were routine.”

“Then, what is Ilina’kai?” Minseok asks.

“The Veil. _Ilina_ means ‘divine’ in Nech’i. _Kai_ means ‘vessel’. So, the god Ilina’kai is simply the god that is both mortal and divine. Both arcane and mundane. They mediate between the divine and the mortal world. Keep wars from spilling over.”

“Do the gods not get along?” Minseok quirks a brow.

“Cael and Sawo Lok are drawn to one another, but… they get feisty,” Baekhyun says, laughing. “They’re _meant_ to act together, they just… don’t often believe in one another’s strengths. They like to war for power over the other. Sawo Lok desires subservience. They want to break Cael Lok down, strip them of their power, and have them kneel. Cael Lok will not kneel.”

“And Ilina’kai?”

“Ilina’kai kneels for them both.”

The door to the Library opens. Baekhyun and Minseok both look up. Jongdae stands framed in light. “They’re only worsening,” he says, voice clipped with stress and tension. Baekhyun shakes his head when Jongdae looks to him for advice.

“You are Carisine, my dear,” and stands up, picking up his great book. He brushes past the Melasin ruler, disappearing down the hall. Leaving Minseok and he alone.

“What would you do?”

“If I have tried meeting them with peace, then I would now meet them with the sword,” Minseok says after a moment. “You’ve shown them generosity and they have not appreciated it. Show them power, now, but only where needed. Execute the revolutionaries, or, simply imprison them. But, if you’re to be understood as an iron fist, permanence will be necessary.”

Jongdae nods, slow and thoughtful. “In time, I’ll conquer your lands. How will I rule there?”

Minseok shakes his head. “You won’t. They’ll never kneel to you.”

“They will,” Jongdae says, almost bitterly. He leaves.

But, the exchange sits on Minseok’s shoulders. It feels almost strange, like a revelation’s been sat before his eyes and he’s still too blind to actually see it.

He retires to his chambers, troubled by the thought.

***

Baekhyun retrieves him a few days later. “Come with me, we’re going _out_ ,” he says. As he speaks, magic singes the air, and his appearance melts away. Silver hair turns brown, iridescent eyes are made black. His skin loses its strange, sparkling sheen, and his clothes become regular, even poor, by Ch’ewin standards.

He looks like himself to some degree, but stripped of all his more recognizable traits. _This_ Baekhyun looks distinctly human, and, if Minseok had not seen his appearance change right in front of his eyes, he might have failed to recognize him in passing.

“Where are we going, specifically?” He asks, closing his book and setting it off to the side.

“Thought the market would be nice. Or the Temple. Jongdae’s not… handling the city with as much strength as I’d hoped for him, even now that he’s actively enforcing violence,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Minseok nods, standing up and following Baekhyun out of the capital building corridors. Outside, the sun bears down on them uncomfortably hot. “The market is on the sixth level of the city, so it’s three levels below _us_ ,” Baekhyun explains, leading him over to the first of _many_ staircases. “The lower we go, the less enforcement officers we’ll see. At least, until we get to the Bay Level. The Docks are well-watched. I want to listen in on what’s being said in the places where Jongdae has less influence.”

“That’s fair,” he agrees. “I won’t be of any help, though.”

“No, you won’t. At least, not listening. But, keep an eye out for anything that seems… _off_ ,” Baekhyun directs. Minseok can try, but, judging by the scene at the market, he’s really not going to succeed all that easily.

The culture is too different. It’s more open, more debauched in a way, and yet, easy, relaxed. Baekhyun has to stop him _multiple_ times from intervening in what he thinks are fights—each time, the excuse is that they’re playing. A number of times, Minseok’s looking away from some woman’s exposed breasts, blushing. He feels out of depth.

And yet, Baekhyun seems right at home, playing along with the children and other slum-rats that run amok on the streets. He compliments styles of dress. Tosses gold coins to merchants in exchange for delicate, unique jewelries or vibrant, colorful foods.

It’s while they’re both eating kebabs that Baekhyun suddenly pauses and turns, nodding his head in the direction of a porch. Minseok follows his gaze. There are four people stood there, just shy of entering the home. One woman, three men.

Baekhyun’s face twists, anger sweeping his features.

He catches the shoulder of a kid running past, nearly jerking the child off balance. The kid brings up their arms as if to fight, but, Baekhyun drops his disguise for a mere second and the child stays their hand. _“What’s your name?”_ Baekhyun asks. Minseok knows this phrase only from being asked it so many times since his capture.

“ _Dam’i,_ ” The child replies.

Baekhyun murmurs something else, nodding at the group of four stood on the porch. The child says something in response. Then, Baekhyun releases Dam’i, several gold coins pressed into his hand.

“What’d you ask him to do?” Minseok asks, retreating with Baekhyun into one of the market stalls, taking a seat on one of the eating benches.

“He’s going to run up to _our_ level of the city and fetch the Melasin soldiers. And they’ll come here, and drag those traitors into the square for a flogging,” Baekhyun hisses angrily.

Minseok says nothing about Baekhyun’s obvious anger. It feels personal, and when emotions get caught up in justice, rarely is the outcome what it ought to be. “What were they talking about?”

“How much they’d like the foreign king _murdered_. They’ve got no sense of secrecy either, who would dare say something like that on their porch, where anyone could hear?” Baekhyun practically snarls, his gaze roving over the street. “Unless, all of these people are rebels? Do they not trust the Word of their Gods?”

“This is a city that has never fallen to a foreigner. Jongdae is young. Does it really shock you that he does not have their support? He’s practically a non-prescence here on the lower levels of the city,” Minseok reasons placatingly. “That’s not why you’re angry,” he continues, coaxing.

“They are too young to remember me. They do not fear the gods,” Baekhyun says by way of explanation. “They might be flogged for their comments about their king, but they will be starved for their comments about their gods.”

“Cruelty is not a good look for you.”

Baekhyun meets his eyes, his gaze blazing. “You would not understand, you are a _know nothing_ man.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m not,” Baekhyun confirms, turning his gaze back to the building full of naysayers. In the following minutes, soldiers appear at the door, breaking through it. It draws a crowd, but no one stands in the way of his and Baekhyun’s view. They watch quietly as the men and woman are dragged out of the house, kicking and screaming. Minseok is not sickened, but he’s not at all proud of the action Baekhyun’s taken. If anything, it reminds him that the, often playful witch, is just as dangerous as Jongdae or he could have been.

For political power is one thing, but religious power is something else entirely. If the king has no control over the church, what control does he _really_ have over the people?

***

Upon their return to the capitol building, after Baekhyun has dropped his disguise, Jongdae is waiting for them on the steps, his face stormy, dark, absolutely _furious_. “One of my captains mentioned a flogging taking place this afternoon. It was followed by a stoning.”

“A shame,” Baekhyun comments, “blasphemers are meant to starve to their deaths.” He’s merciless, his voice cold, his gaze challenging when it meets Jongdae’s.

“I am flogging those that actively disrupt my rule. Not those that critique it.”

“Those that critique it will eventually disrupt it,” Baekhyun says calmly.

Jongdae’s lip twitches. “And only tried and convicted rebels are to die by my men’s hands,” he continues. His fury is barely contained, so obvious that Minseok shifts on his feet, putting some distance between he and Baekhyun. “Do you take me for a fool? Am I subordinate to you, or are you subordinate to me, Baekhyun?”

Silence.

“Ch’ewi is a city that bows to power, _Carisine_. You’ve yet to bring them to their knees,” Baekhyun says tonelessly. His eyes are like knives, piercing deep into the furious king stood only a few paces in front of him.

The only time Minseok remembers the Ch’ewins bowing to Jongdae was at his introduction to the city, and even then, it had been Baekhyun who called them to the action.

Baekhyun murmurs something in his native tongue, so quietly that Minseok nearly doesn’t hear it. But Jongdae, Jongdae _does_ hear it, and his anger snaps like a whip.

Minseok just barely steps out of the way of the bolt of lightning that comes flying at Baekhyun.

The witch, rips it from the air, spins it around himself, and throws it right back at Jongdae. And so, the fight begins. Baekhyun’s forced steadily down the steps, Jongdae following him down, ire making his hits searing and direct.

At the base of the building, soldiers and citizens alike watch as the Carisine and the Witch go head to head, their jaws gaping, their eyes wide with shock.

Minseok waits off to the side. This is far from being his battle to fight. But, his heart feels like it’s been rifted, as if the scene before him is inherently wrong. Jongdae and Baekhyun aren’t meant to fight, and there must have been a lot happening behind the scenes _since_ their arrive to Ch’ewi that caused such a boiling over of tensions.

A storm brews overhead, lightning sparkling in the clouds, rain threatening to release. It darkens the landscape. Makes the scene before them something of legend, something momentous, something that will be spoken of for years to come.

Baekhyun captures another bolt of Jongdae’s lightning and sends it whipping into him, grinning when the electricity meets the king’s flesh and begins to burn and tear through his muscle. He _goads_ Jongdae as he fights, shouting encouragement and insults in their shared tongue.

And, though his body sparkles with electricity, his skin lit on fire by the sky’s white flames, Jongdae meets Baekhyun with yet _more_ power, his magic cresting, seemingly never-ending.

Rain finally begins to fall from the sky, the wind picking up, whipping at everyone present. Still, it’s like they’re rooted in place, witnessing the event at hand.

The wind tugs at Baekhyun more harshly, so much so, that his feet begin to slide along the slickened stones, and he’s fighting to keep his balance more than to keep Jongdae at bay.

A bolt of lightning shoves the Witch backwards, tumbling down the remaining steps. He rises partway, on shaking arms, his hair soaked. His magic is still so very tangible, still so angry, but, when he tries to stand, Jongdae sends him back down, lightning swirling all around him like knives.

He shouts something at Baekhyun, his voice rough, raw.

The witch tries to stand once more, but again, he’s brought down into the water collecting at the base of the pavilion steps, mud coating his clothes, grit staining his silvery hair. His magic flickers and then, in a wave, it cedes to Jongdae’s.

Baekhyun rises to his knees at the base of the steps, and then, he leans forward and bows properly.

Everyone who’s born witness to the scene follows—there’s not even a _moment_ of hesitation. It’s like, the second they see Baekhyun _lose_ to Jongdae, they’ve made their decision. He is a King. A king who can best even the gods.

Minseok does not bow, but he watches with mounting admiration as Jongdae _wins_ his city.


	4. A Land Most Foreign, Most Familiar

Baekhyun, for what it’s worth, does not sulk over his loss. In fact, he seems brighter, more relaxed now that he’s been physically bested by Jongdae. Still, he does not spend as much time in the capitol building as he had before. More often than not, he’s off in the temple, or even out in the desert, suspiciously missing.

Jongdae relays all of this to Minseok, but doesn’t appear worried. He’s the most at ease he’s ever been since first coming into Ch’ewi, and, though he’s going out into the city more often, he’s not always with guards nor does he come across as many altercations.

His win over Baekhyun had been like a domino effect. Take the most powerful figure in the city, exert real power over him, and watch how the people decide to respond to that event. In Jongdae’s case, they had turned to him, and, after the great near hurricane that had swept through the city over the following week—he’s been lauded just shy of a god.

It brings the city to a much needed peace as it finally cows to Jongdae’s empire. And so, the great nation of Semma, whose capital lies in Melasi, becomes the Great Empire of Semma, finally having conquered all of Muk’eti.

“What of the Salt Cities?” Minseok asks over a dinner one day.

Jongdae looks up at him, then shakes his head, “They’ve already submit. We received messages from them shortly after the hurricane. I’ve already asked for one of my nephews to take the throne there and govern in my absence.”

“Then you must be setting your sights elsewhere?” Minseok continues.

“We’ll be crossing the Middle Sea into Western Irida in a few days time. Once Yixing arrives from the North.”

“He’ll be governing here?”

“Ch’ewi is a merchant city, and Yixing is devoted to Baekhyun. He’ll govern well.”

“You don’t think he’ll try and wrest power from you?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “I know him well. It seems that where you’re from, you often work with your enemies. What’s the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” He pauses, swiping a piece of his bread through a little platter of seasoned oil. He pops it into his mouth, then, after swallowing, finishes his point. “Here in the east, we do not lie with snakes. If I trust a man, I have reason to.”

“You should still be wary.”

“I am, but I’m not so cautious as to ignore a good prospect when I see one. Yixing will make Ch’ewi flourish, and, he’ll be familiar to them. Do not forget that they’ve been ruled by merchant for the past two decades. This will be a welcome shift of power.”

Minseok nods, agreeing. He’s not excited for them to travel into the west. It’ll be his homeland, and, even if those south of the Valiwyr do not know him, there is a chance he will be recognized.

And he doesn’t wish to be recognized while in chains.

“I won’t help you rule my lands. And will you be able to?”

Jongdae doesn’t answer, simply leans back in his chair and downs the rest of his wine.

***

“I fucking _hate_ sailing,” Minseok mutters, putting his head in his hands. He’s sat in one of the hammocks in the cabin he shares with Jongdae and Baekhyun, and so, he really gets no reprieve, for the hammock swings just as roughly as the ship pitches. Jongdae is similarly sickened by the movements of the ship. He handles it better than Minseok, but _far_ worse than Baekhyun.

Baekhyun who seems at home aboard the ship, who has been sleeping soundly since they embarked on their journey.

“Tell me about it,” Jongdae snaps, groaning and turning over in his hammock. “How’s he sleeping through this?”

Minseok eyes the witch, then leans back in his hammock, willing his stomach to settle.

Baekhyun yawns, seemingly woken, and, in that callous, sleepy voice of his, “If you stopped complaining long enough to _try_ to sleep, you might be successful.”

Both Minseok and Jongdae immediately whine out their disagreement. Baekhyun smacks his lips. “You are both mages, just _magic_ yourself a solution,” he says, turning back over. This brings pause, and then, Jongdae’s sitting up and looking over at Minseok.

Minseok can feel his gaze resting on him, but he doesn’t make any effort to meet it. He’s not sure he wants to see the expression Jongdae’s making.

“We’re _both_ mages?” Jongdae repeats. “You must be mistaken Baekhyun.”

Minseok could kill him. He said not to tell anyone.

“He’s not wrong,” Minseok says, sighing. “But, I’ve not got much use for it. I don’t… _know_ how to use it.”

Jongdae gasps. “Magic’s rare even here in Muk’eti, and its outlawed anywhere that isn’t Wicor and Miasm. How can you have magic?”

Minseok shrugs, “I just do.” Now, he looks up. Jongdae’s watching him with something akin to shock, a little bit of awe. He gestures to Minseok’s hands, who, after sighing again, reaches deep into himself in search of that little _spark_ of energy.

A snowflake floats between his hands just a few moments later, but sweat drips down from his forehead at the effort.

“It’s probably cause you’re over the sea, and because you’ve been in the desert so long,” Jongdae says, noticing Minseok’s trouble. “Even if you haven’t learned how to control it, it’s going to be a lot harder now that you’re out of your element.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sawo Lok is the Queen of Salt, she’s strongest in the desert and over the sea. Ilina’kai is strongest on the sea, because it’s a surface area. Cael is strongest on solid earth. The type that fosters forests and mountains. She’s strongest within the cold,” Baekhyun explains for him. “I worship Sawo Lok, so my magic doesn’t fluctuate between the sea and the desert, but because Ilina’kai is my patron, my magic will always be strongest on the sea—or other places where there’s a _border_ involved. Above water, under water. Inside a cave, outside a cave, so on and so forth.”

“What Jongdae’s really saying is that you’re far from your god. Be that a physical distance or a spiritual one, it’s going to make your magic difficult to properly cultivate and train,” Baekhyun finishes.

“I’d like to know when the gods will leave me alone,” Minseok mutters. Baekhyun _hrumpfs_ and turns over, his back to the both of them.

Jongdae pays him no heed. “The gods never leave us alone. It’s like we’re magnetic,” he says, his grin lopsided. “But, Baekhyun’s right. I’ve never heard of anyone being able to harness magic without becoming… champions for their gods.”

“Is that what you think you are? A champion for Sawo Lok.”

“That’s what I’m okay with being. If she bestowed on me great magic, then I’ll worship her in kind. Baekhyun’s been very instrumental in how I’ve found my faith. He could probably help you as well.”

“I’m not interested,” Minseok says quietly. “If a god wishes to claim me, then they can show me that they care. I’m not some pawn for their games.”

“You’re not,” Baekhyun says smoothly, “You’re the King. Jongdae’s the Queen. And I’m the Rook.”

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” Minseok asks.

“The King is steadfast, he waits out the game. He’s the most important piece, and yet, the most limited. He’s trapped, in a sense, on the board. He’s the commander,” Baekhyun explains. “The Queen, inversely, is the conqueror. She travels the board, leaving carnage in her wake. She is the sword. And the Rook moves alongside the Queen, where it is deadliest. But it has enough vision to look back and protect the King. It’s a knowledgeable piece, one that works best additional to its rulers.”

“That’s considering if we all play on the same side. Didn’t you say Sawo Lok and Cael are not a team? Even if I were Cael’s King, I am opposed to you.”

“Are you sure we don’t play on the same side?” Baekhyun murmurs quietly.

Jongdae shakes his head. “He is _my_ prisoner,” he says quietly. “An honored one, who is well kept, well clothed, well fed. But a prisoner nonetheless.”

“Keep telling yourself that, _Carisine_.” And Baekhyun promptly goes to sleep.

Jongdae leaves the cabin, and, a few beats later, so does Minseok, staggering aboard the moving ship, but nonetheless making his way out onto the deck.

Above deck, the stars stretch on for miles upon miles. The sea, though choppy, reflects the moon brilliantly, tossing silver light up onto the deck. It’s beautiful in a very singular, very lonely way.

Jongdae stands at the rails, the wind whipping at his hair and clothes.

“Why does your right hand man only speak half-truths and rile us up?” Minseok asks, walking up next to him.

Jongdae snorts. “Baekhyun has a way with words. Unfortunately, half of the time I can’t tell whether it is Baekhyun the Zealot speaking or Baekhyun my friend speaking.”

Minseok nods, unsure of how to respond to that. Then, quietly, “When we arrive in the West, again, I’d like to try practicing my magic with you. I know you won’t bring up religion each time I make an attempt.”

“You can’t fault him for being so… devoted. He’s something of an anomaly, where he doesn’t seem to age, doesn’t seem to die. If I seemed to transcend the laws of men, I’d be a zealot too.”

“As would I, but we don’t transcend the laws of men. At least, not usually,” Minseok says, eyeing Jongdae at the memory of his death and subsequent resurrection at Baekhyun’s hands. “So, I really don’t care for it.”

Jongdae laughs, then turns, meeting his gaze. “Once we get to land, I’ll teach you a bit about your magic.”

Minseok nods, happy, and then, he leans over the rails and vomits.

Jongdae pats his back. “Only a few more days,” and he disappears back into the cabin, leaving Minseok alone—seasick and quiet.

***

“The Alfini Navy is as good as the Mutiarin,” Minseok says, staring out at the mass of ships on the horizon. “They won’t lose to your fleet. You’ve got soldiers meant for land, not sea.”

“Are you familiar with the Colossus?” Jongdae says in response, turning to him. Minseok relays that he _hasn’t_ other than the one in T’ike, and to please enlighten him if this is different.

“Her name is Nen. She was the original champion for Sawo Lok in the War of the Gods,” Baekhyun says, “you ought to consider her with respect, Carisine, else she’ll sink _our_ fleet and not our enemy’s.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about gods,” Minseok mutters, glaring at Jongdae.

The Melasin king shrugs his shoulders, “You said it yourself. The Alfini Navy would sink us with ease, and then, my invasion stops before it even began. Baekhyun’s merely ensuring that won’t happen. Besides, it’s always exciting to get to watch him use his power in _full_. Don’t you think?”

Minseok’s reminded of the last time he was on the sea, when Baekhyun had brought Jongdae back to life. Perhaps, he will enjoy the excitement of watching the Witch of Sawo Lok take on the Alfini Navy, but he’s not too excited. If Baekhyun fails, they will either retreat, or they will lose decisively because Jongdae can’t stand a hit to his pride.

His thoughts all putter to a stop as Baekhyun throws himself overboard, his clothes whipping all around him. Minseok gasps, running to the rails, and watches as Baekhyun disappears beneath the waves, his colorful presence obscured by the deep.

They wait.

Long enough that Jongdae seems to grow worried, joining Minseok at the side of the ship.

And then the waves begin to grow in strength and size, and the current jerks their ship on its anchor, as if some great vacuum has opened on the ocean floor. A maelstrom begins to swirl, and so, Jongdae gives the command for the ships to give it room.

From a distance, they watch as the waves change direction, the maelstrom moving towards the Alfini ships.

As the depth of the ocean lessens closer to the land, a gargantuan shape begins to rise up from the waves. It seems to be made of obsidian—volcanic rock rapidly cooled—and glints in the afternoon light.

They hear shouting at the side of the ship, sailors throwing down ropes over the rails. At a glance, it’s Baekhyun, sopping wet, but grinning brilliantly. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?!” He shouts, already rushing to the hull of the ship, watching as the Colossus gradually unearths itself.

The Alfine ships cower before her, clearly rethinking their line of defense.

Above the waves, Baekhyun shouts, his voice amplified by magic, a foreign phrase. One that immediately stops the Colossus in her tracks. He turns to Jongdae. “You can be merciful and allow them to surrender now. Or, you can make an example of them, so that the rest of the West knows you and fears you.”

“I want to be merciful,” Jongdae says without pause. He stands up next to Baekhyun’s forward place on the hull, and with the aid of Baekhyun’s magic, he relays his terms in Common. _Surrender peacefully, and Alfine will not suffer._

A couple of hours afterwards, just before sunset, one ship breaks away from the rest. Its occupants include the Alfini Admiral and one of the city advisors. They accept the terms, and the Melasin King may enter as he wishes—Alfine is his.

The Colossus walks in front of their fleet, but she stops a few ship lengths away from the docks, her face impassive, statuesque.

Baekhyun calls up to her, his foreign language as floaty as a songbird’s. She turns, facing the open sea, and takes the position of a guardian. Like at T’ike, a Colossus now guards the gates of the city.

Jongdae’s entrance into Alfine is quiet. Most people do not even open their doors to line the streets in greeting. They stand in their window sills, looking at the foreigners’ entrance, but unable to do anything about it. Minseok is prideful—would never wish to see his home city invaded—and so he understands what it must be like to _have_ to surrender if he is to survive.

Two messengers, one from Nilia and the other from Relfani, arrive a couple days after they get situated in Alfine. The soldiers remained quartered on the ships, Jongdae doing everything in his power not to disrupt the lives of those living in his newly acquired city. Minseok’s actually quite impressed at the way Jongdae subtly tries to win over the Alfini people.

To his credit, it works, if only just. The people begin to go back to their daily rhythms and Jongdae is nothing but a near invisible ruler. He works closely with the city council, eager to learn about Alfini culture, that way he knows and understands the struggles of the city before he must leave.

Minseok’s not easily recognized around here, so far south of the Valiwyr. Which, is somewhat liberating. But, he doesn’t escape judgment. He’s very obviously _not_ from Muk’eti, with his paler skin and his more stout, muscular build (as opposed to Jongdae and Baekhyun’s lean muscles and lithe strides). And, because he’s obviously from West Irida, but working with conquerors from the East, he is strictly ostracized, even when his activities are completely harmless.

“That’s the…hm, I believe that was the _third_ fisherman that’s refused to sell us part of his catch,” Baekhyun says, looking over his shoulder at the cursing man. “I never have this problem.”

“You are merely an invader. I, on the other hand, am a traitor,” Minseok says stonily, frustration seeping from his pores.

“In Muk’eti, we slaughtered traitors. It appears that here in Alfine, they merely curse them,” Baekhyun says idly. He leads Minseok into another food stall. The woman begins to shake her head, words already forming in her mouth. As she begins to curse, Baekhyun turns to Minseok and says, “Tell her that if she refuses us I’ll have her hands removed for refusing service, and if she continues to curse us, I’ll also remove her tongue.”

Minseok’s stomach turns, but, he relays Baekhyun’s words in Common. This gives the woman pause, especially since Baekhyun’s taken out his blade and lets it glint in the light. She serves him a part of her catch, but angrily, so much so, that once he and Baekhyun are walking away again, Minseok wants to throw it to the cobble pavement and cry.

“You’re troubled,” Baekhyun says, picking at the cooked fish.

“You just threatened a woman with dismemberment in order to get us a lunch. Should I not be troubled?”

“You were an invading king, and we did not refuse you any service, did we? We allowed you to eat at our tables, to drink from our goblets. I threatened her because she’s not willing to show you basic, human respect and that ought to be punished.”

“And did you show her respect by threatening her?”

“I gave her an option and she made the humane choice. That’s respectful enough, don’t you think?”

Minseok rolls his eyes, annoyed. But, he’s famished, and so he too begins to pick at one of the cooked fish they’d been wrapped. It’s well seasoned, well cooked. He’ll thank the vendor one day. Though he’s sure she won’t appreciate it.

“Jongdae’s going to meet us out here, soon. He wants to be able to greet people, if they’ll allow it. I suspect they won’t speak to him.”

“They’ll curse at him in a language he doesn’t understand,” Minseok says simply. “I mean, why wouldn’t they. It’d be a great joke. To curse the king with a smile on your face and to shake his hand as if you were friends.”

“Everything you tell me just makes me feel more righteous about my earlier threats,” Baekhyun says.

Minseok shrugs, “Perhaps, they were warranted. I just would prefer not to be a part of them.”

“How did you ever rule?” Baekhyun asks, “for you seem as gentle as a lamb.”

“I ruled quietly. When you are a popular king, you don’t have to force good people into submission. They willingly submit. When you are a foreign invader, you have to force good people to accept you—knowing that they are merely patriots of their homeland, good people who do not want to change. It makes it harder, doesn’t it.”

“I am a foreign invader to everyone,” Baekhyun says quietly. “A stranger who has no homeland of this earth. I’m simply more used to being accepted by those unfamiliar with me. It’s my charm.”

Minseok snorts. _Of course,_ because Baekhyun is just full of charm. But, he understands. There’s an otherworldliness about Baekhyun, something that sets him apart.

Maybe it’s the magic, because even Jongdae stands apart from the mold.

Perhaps, if he’d accepted his magic sooner, he’d be like them—stunning in some blessedly arcane way. But, as it stands, he feels like a stranger in his own skin, hedging on the border of choice. Submit to the ways of the Melasin Carisine, and give in to both Jongdae and Baekhyun, or retain what autonomy he has and make an effort to betray them in the very end, when his kingdom is in sight.

He must look lost, because Baekhyun says, “It’s best you get out of your head… you might lose yourself to the possibilities you’ll never take.”

***

Later that evening, after Jongdae is treated with impressive iciness on the streets, they eat, all together, in the home the Alfini Council had prepared for them. They only have the fish from that afternoon, much to Baekhyun’s displeasure, but Minseok had nearly begged him not to threaten anymore vendors. Reluctantly, Baekhyun had complied, though he’s still thrumming with ire—thinly veiled, but recognizable to someone like Minseok (who’s been around enough of Baekhyun’s mood changes to notice them at this point).

He leaves immediately after eating, disappearing into the night outside, leaving Jongdae and Minseok alone. “Perhaps, this is a good time to try some magic,” Jongdae says, to loosen the tension Baekhyun’s dour mood had left them with.

“Perhaps,” Minseok agrees, helping Jongdae to clear the table before they retire to the lounge, sitting down in the middle of a pretty, patterned rug, both of them pulling pillows into their laps to rest their elbows atop.

Jongdae opens his palm, and lightning sparkles to life in his hand, wrapping its tendrils all around his fingers. “You can obviously summon your magic, so you know what it feels like and where it rests inside you, but it’s difficult for you. It could be the fact that you’re disconnected to your magic’s actual source, but it could also be a self-imposed block that’s keeping you back. Perhaps, something internalized that you’ve yet to let go.”

Minseok has many things internalized. His homophobia is one of them. His fear of magic—witchcraft—being one of the others. “Witches were burned at the stake for practicing outside of the tenants of Lij.”

“Our witches are revered, and I intend to rule this world. You’ll never face the stake, Minseok. Let that fear go,” Jongdae coaxes. “I’ll never allow them to hurt you like that.”

“Why not?” Minseok asks, meeting Jongdae’s gaze steadily, if a bit fearfully. “I’m not… I’m not going to kneel to you, Jongdae. You are not my King. _I_ am a King. Should I really forget about the stake?”

Jongdae watches him, his gaze empty for several long seconds, and then, they’re emotive once more, softening in the face of Minseok’s confession. “I won’t burn you at the stake.”

“Baekhyun will.”

“Baekhyun won’t.”

Minseok falls quiet, then, he shakes his head. “That wasn’t… that’s not really what we came here to talk about now was it? Let’s get back to the magic. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He redirects their conversation back to the magic at hand, opening his palms.

His magic comes more quickly than it had on the sea or in the desert, but it’s still faint.

“You’re still blocking it,” Jongdae says, “don’t panic or anything. Just let me-” He reaches out, linking their hands together. Instantaneously, power flows into Minseok’s veins, and explodes outwards. Icicles form on the ceiling, and the glass windows frost, then shatter. Hoarfrost spreads across the ground, then begins to thicken, becoming a heavy sheet of ice that’ll no doubt break bones should they slip on it.

Jongdae’s body goes rigid, panic lacing his features as his lips rapidly turn blue, his fingers going numb with frostbite.

As quickly as Minseok’s power had crested, it falls. The effects do not immediately wear off, but, Jongdae does not become any colder.

They sit in gasping silence as Jongdae blows warmth and feeling into his hands once more, his eyes wide and surprised.

“That was… more than I expected,” Jongdae says quietly, once they’ve both caught their breath.

The door opens, and Baekhyun returns, taking in the scene with blatant curiosity. “I see the magic lessons are going well?” He remarks.

“Shut up,” both of them say in tandem. Baekhyun gasps, then laughs.

“I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a burst of magic as powerful as that… except for that storm you whipped up in Ch’ewi,” he says, coming into the house, careful not to slip on any of the melting ice, and kneeling down next to them on the floor. He holds out his hands, “Do it again, for me?”

Minseok shakes his head, significantly frightened by the sudden loss of power—how he’d nearly hurt Jongdae unknowingly. He relays this to Baekhyun, explaining he doesn’t want to try again.

“It’s only because the two of you are so strong, but so opposite. Jongdae’s power is chaos. Yours is order. Let me mediate for you,” Baekhyun says.

Something about that is familiar, but Minseok can’t place it at the moment. Reluctantly, he winds his fingers into Baekhyun’s, then offers his other hand to Jongdae. When he pulls his power to the surface, he feels it like the ocean, cresting, and crashing against a wall of similar, but different magic.

Frost covers his palms and Jongdae’s, but it’s not bitingly cold. It is simply there, nearly a non-presence entirely.

“Breathe,” Baekhyun commands them quietly. Jongdae lets out a breath immediately, Minseok following belatedly, forcing himself to relax.

The ocean inside him calms, mellowing out, but his power doesn’t recede. It sits there on the surface, awaiting his command. “This is what magic ought to be like for you both,” Baekhyun explains. “This is what magic is like for the gods. Always within reach, simply available. It does not require conscious thought. It’s just waiting for when it is needed.”

“How do you know what magic is like for the gods?” Jongdae jokes.

Baekhyun laughs, but he doesn’t explain. He merely continues to hold their hands as Minseok experiments with his magic, creating snow from the latent moisture hanging in the air. Blowing numbing cold over Jongdae’s face.

It’s a significantly better experience with Baekhyun providing his calmer magic against theirs.

Then, abruptly, Baekhyun’s magic recedes, with it, Minseok’s does as well.

Minseok releases his hands as the witch’s eyes droop and a yawn overcomes him. “I’m not used to having a limit,” Baekhyun murmurs, voice rough. He _does_ look worn out now.

“I forget,” Jongdae says, “now that we’re out of the water, and away from the desert. My magic’s weaker too.”

Both of them glance at Minseok. “I’ll never live like this,” Baekhyun mutters. “As soon as you conquer this damn place, I’m going back to the Isati. Or perhaps I’ll live on the sea. I haven’t decided yet.”

Minseok scoffs, as does Jongdae. “Sure you will,” they both say, helping one another up, then hauling Baekhyun to his feet. Jongdae points out one of the closed doors in the hall. “That’s your room,” he says.

“Unless you’d like to join _us_ ,” Baekhyun purrs. Jongdae makes to pinch him, but he’s already dancing down the hallway and disappearing into his and Jongdae’s shared room.

Jongdae looks to Minseok, caught between apologizing and teasing him. Minseok saves him the need to make a choice, and disappears into his own room, pretending he doesn’t see the way Jongdae deflates at his choice.

***

“I’d like to get some new clothes. Clothes suitable for the change in climate,” Jongdae explains the next morning, inviting Minseok out with him. Like normal, the streets part in front of them as they walk—the Alfini people unwilling to even look them in the eyes. Minseok can only imagine how many of them are spitting at their backs.

“Good luck finding a vendor that’ll sell to you,” Minseok says, following Jongdae down another road, closer to the market center in the town. They’re turned away from a number of stalls, as they had been the day before.

Jongdae’s frustration mounts, his magic tingling in the air. Minseok really doesn’t want to deal with an outburst.

So, he scans the place, finally settling on a demure girl that almost appears to be watching a stall—rather than actually operating it. He leads Jongdae over to it, his boots splashing in the gritty puddles on the street. The girl’s eyes widen at their approach, and she looks like she might bolt. “We’re looking for clothes,” Minseok says, by way of greeting. “We have gold to pay for them.”

“My mother doesn’t sell to invaders,” the girl says, blinking.

“You are not your mother,” Jongdae says. “Please?” And he places his bag of gold coins on the counter, opening it and counting enough to cover the cost of new clothing for he, Minseok, _and_ Baekhyun.

The girl eyes it hungrily. She’s gaunt, obviously lower-income in comparison to the wealthier merchants that have already turned the Melasin King away. She looks around, and then, nods decisively. “What are you looking for specifically?”

“We’ll need three fur coats,” Minseok directs, “and several new tunics and pants. Have you new boots as well?”

The girl nods, leaving her perch at the counter and walking around to the various chests and other hooks set up around the vending stall. She retrieves several pelts, lining them up on the counter for them to choose from.

“You suit the grey wolf’s pelt,” Jongdae murmurs, wrapping the pelt around Minseok’s shoulders and regarding him carefully.

“And you the black one. It’s striking and looks expensive,” Minseok says, setting the two wolf pelts aside. “Baekhyun?”

“Get him a black pelt as well,” Jongdae says, already turning to see what the vending girl’s brought back for them by way of tunics and pants. He selects neutral colors—nothing flashy, nothing that would make him stand out from the typical Alfini civilian. For boots, he chooses those that are functional, not flashy. He picks out a taller, laced pair for Baekhyun, then allows Minseok to choose boots for himself.

They try them on, satisfied with the fit.

As they pay, the girl’s mother returns. Immediately, she’s arguing, the syllables of Southern Wiccish pouring from her throat. Minseok’s going to be rusty—it’s been years since he learned Wiccish, but, he’ll manage as well as he can. _“Don’t scold her_ ,” he tries, “ _Her sale will provide that you eat for the months to come. The Melasin are a generous people.”_ The woman does not appear any happier, but she does look somewhat intrigued.

“You speak our tongue, traitor?” She says in Common.

“I spoke the languages I needed in order to rule. The Valiwyr traded often with Alfini merchants. It’s only right that I know your tongue, no?”

The woman regards him with a new look. _“Are you a prisoner?”_ she hisses.

Minseok blinks. _“I am not free, and I am a long way from home,_ ” he settles on. Then, he leaves, Jongdae in tow.

“What was that about?” Jongdae asks.

“She wanted to know how I knew her language.”

“And what did you say?” Jongdae cocks his head.

“I told her I needed to know languages in order to manage the affairs of my kingdom,” he says quietly. “And then, she asked if I was a prisoner.” He pauses, “I told her that I was merely not free.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Is there?”

***

Jongdae very nearly leaves Baekhyun to govern Alfine, Nilia, and Relfani. Minseok’s begging for someone else has him change his mind. Though just barely. Jongdae’s familiar with Baekhyun’s more hardline, black and white way of doing things, and he’d thought that might work in the merchant cities. But Minseok had been adamant in telling him that Alfine needed a governor that would be strong, but not cruel, not domineering.

He’d put a woman named Hyeran in charge of the city, as governess, leaving her a small militia for protection and enforcement, and then, they had left—Baekhyun was not told about Minseok’s conversation with Jongdae, and it was all for the better that he wasn’t.

“Wiccor and Miasm will require you have a larger army. They are a battle for the years to come,” Baekhyun says.

“So, what is it you’re suggesting?” Jongdae asks.

“We’ll march through the Middle Passage. They are notoriously passive. If they challenge us, we slaughter their defense. Though they are large nations, they do not have a large standing army. They’ll be easy to win, but the problem is controlling them. That is why we need a larger army, and why we should go to the Valiwyr first.”

“We march through the Middle Passage and take on the Valiwyr,” Jongdae muses, thinking about it.

“The Valiwyr will be a long fight. With winter on the horizon, we may very well be fighting into the next year, or the year after that, simply to breach the Valiwyr defenses. Even with the size of our military,” Baekhyun continues to explain.

Minseok’s reminded of the number of citizens in Semma, of the millions of people Muk’eti has over the Valiwyr’s few hundred thousand. The troops Jongdae travels with now number into the thousands, but they are not his entire army. The rest of his military will sail when called. Will attack Lorraine, and force the Valiwyr to confront a two-front war.

For the first time since his capture, Minseok sees the end. He sees his homeland falling. There’s no way they will win, not when the opposing army is _so_ vast.

They probably say something else, but Minseok’s attention is brought elsewhere, off into the trees lining their passage. He’s not entirely sure _why_ his attention goes there, only that it does. For all of five minutes, everything seems perfectly at ease.

And then, an arrow whizzes out of the tree line. Baekhyun’s magic lashes out deftly, throwing off the arrow’s course just slightly, but it still strikes true.

Jongdae falls from his saddle, hand clutching his side. He tugs his spear free of his rearing horse’s saddle and turns in the direction of the arrow, throwing the spear with a forceful arm.

Minseok hears the impact of the spear embedding in its target. And then, everything dissolves into chaos.

Baekhyun’s magic sparks and crackles at the tree line, setting the branches and leaves alight with fire. But as soon as he does this, his magic recedes. Minseok’s reminded that here on land, far from the desert where Sawo Lok reins supreme, far from the ocean, where Ilina’kai is most powerful, Baekhyun _hardly_ has the strength he’s used to expending.

He staggers, already suffering from the magic output he’s loosed, but he draws his sabre, ready to fight.

Another arrow sings from the trees, parting the flames, sinking into Baekhyun’s shoulder.

Hands secure themselves around his neck and shoulders, tugging him off of his horse and onto another. _“Quiet!”_ The rider hisses in Wiccish, and they reel the horse around. They are not so fast as to avoid being seen, though. Baekhyun catches his eye and practically snarls at the prospect of Minseok escaping.

Because that is what this is. This is a rescue.

Jongdae swings himself up into his horse’s saddle and gives chase, while Baekhyun turns back to the attackers in the trees, shouting orders in his native tongue. The soldiers in their convoy dart forward, attacking whatever Alfini militia has mounted this offensive.

They are martyrs for whatever cause that has just rallied behind Minseok. An arrow flies, so close to Minseok’s cheek, that the arrowhead cuts a long line against his cheek. It impales his savior, and the corpse falls from the saddle, nearly dragging Minseok down with it.

But, he has enough presence of mind the grab the reins and resituate himself in his saddle. To his right, there’s a woman—the woman from the vending stall. As he watches, she turns and notches and arrow, sending it flying in Jongdae’s direction.

She misses, and Jongdae grips his second spear in hand, preparing his throw, then loosing it.

Minseok’s horse falters, squealing and jolting. It’s gait shortens in seconds, its left hind giving out, the muscles tearing around the blade of the spear. It limps awkwardly, but it looses its ground.

Jongdae’s horse crashes into Minseok’s, a thousand pounds of muscle going at break-neck speed. Minseok can _hear_ the brutal cracking of the impact as the horses no doubt fracture their ribs in the collision.

He ducks Jongdae’s dagger attack, reaching out to grab onto the King’s wrist and wrench him bodily up out of his saddle.

Jongdae’s magic travels up his arms, burning him.

And then, Minseok does something he’s never done in a situation like this before. He reaches for _his_ magic, and, like before, when Baekhyun wasn’t mediating, the power comes readily to hand, exploding outwards.

Jongdae falls limp in his grip, his skin cooling rapidly, his fingertips and his lips turning blue. Minseok leaps out of his horse’s saddle and situates himself in Jongdae’s horse’s saddle. He can here shouting in the distance, the soldiers no doubt catching up.

It’s a split second decision he makes. Instead of shoving Jongdae to the ground, he gathers him in his lap, slings his unconscious body over the horse’s back, and then kicks the animal back into a gallop.

As they break into a field, he realizes he’s flanked by two people. One, the female vendor he’d spoken to just a couple of days or so ago. The second is not anyone he recognizes, but they’re pointed ears suggests they are native to the Middle Passage, where magic-folk are more common.

They still aren’t free, though, he realizes only seconds later. Another arrow sings past him, and the woman falls from her saddle. If she’s not killed by the arrow, she is killed by her own horse’s hooves at it spooks away from her.

The elf’s horse slides down an embankment soon after that, and, in the resulting tumble, Minseok cannot stop to see if he survives. He just continues his horse onwards.

Onwards until it collapses, throwing both he and Jongdae from the saddle. Minseok hits the ground, rolling and groaning as his body thuds against rocks hidden in the tall grass. He quickly sits up, feels around for Jongdae, and then, he drags him away from the fallen horse.

The Semman soldiers never appear, but when Minseok tries to rise up and actually walk, pain lances up his side and prevents him from taking more than a few steps.

He collapses to the ground now, panic weighing him down. He may have escaped, but he has Jongdae with him (still unconscious, yes, but with him nonetheless) and no way of even making it to Wiccor, much less all the way North, into the Valiwyr.

With a gasping sigh, he drops his head into his hands, and he cries.

***

“We’re both crippled and in the middle of fuck-all nowhere,” Jongdae says, hours later, once he’s finally woken up. It’s dark outside, fireflies flickering around them, cicadas going off in the distance. His voice is rough, as if ruined by the cold Minseok had sent jolting through his body, and his eyes are dark, thoughtful. He’s not… explosively angry, at least, not yet, but Minseok can feel his rage simmering beneath the surface. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks.

“No, I just took the chance when I saw it,” Minseok explains. “You’d have done the same.”

Jongdae nods, but he doesn’t say anything on the topic. Just looks back down at the ground. One of his hands is definitely broken, and the arrow he’d been shot with had been broken and splintered farther into his body. Meanwhile, Minseok’s probably broken his knee and several of his ribs in the fall from his horse. Dirt cakes his face, and he’s without any canteen of water to flush out the wound.

So, he tries his magic once more, trying to summon a small block of clean ice. Anything he can use to clean himself up, and, since Jongdae’s stuck with him, he as well. He succeeds in summoning some ice, and eventually, collects a pool of water in his hands, which he wets the cleanest piece of cloth he can find with. He dabs gently at the cut on his face, cleaning away the dirt and blood. Then, does the same for Jongdae, both of them silent as he does.

“Baekhyun will find us in time.”

“If he didn’t get killed back on the path. Last I saw, he’d been shot in the shoulder with an arrow.”

“And I took an arrow to the gut. I’m still alive, even after crashing off a horse.”

“I’m saying he might be dead. And then what.”

“I suppose my invasion begins just a few weeks after it begins,” Jongdae says. He pauses, then, almost angrily, he kicks at the dirt. “They wouldn’t even look you in the eye back at the city. Why would they help you now?”

“I don’t know,” Minseok says honestly. “The Valiwyr doesn’t work with Alfine as much as that sort of rescue mission would suggest. I don’t know, and all of them are dead, so I can’t ask.”

He feels awful about their deaths. He thinks that, perhaps were he more prepared, they could have escaped with less bloodshed, with less injury—but, he’ll never know. And it’ll do him no good to dwell on it. “What’s the likelihood Baekhyun murders me when he finds us, assuming he is alive?”

“He won’t kill you. Will probably just want to make your life hell. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Why would you?”

“Well, you could have slit my throat while I was unconscious, and then limped off to wherever in hopes to find someone on your side. But you didn’t. Even though killing me would end our war.”

“You don’t think Baekhyun would continue it for you?”

“Baekhyun would go home and wait for the next prophetic birth,” Jongdae says quietly. “He and I… we’re bound to one another, we are loyal to one another. But he’ll not continue a fight that isn’t his. He is always a complement to me. Not… driven by me? If that makes sense?”

Minseok can’t really say it does with any real confidence, but… he _thinks_ he gets it, so he nods anyways. “I don’t get him.”

“Few do. I don’t know if I do, even. I don’t get you either.”

“What’s there to get about me?” Minseok asks, “I figured I was an open book.”

“You’re quiet. Baekhyun used to tell me, back when we first captured you, that I ought to learn from you. That you were a ruler whereas I was as conqueror. I never understood the difference. But he’s right. You’re steadfast, patient. You’ll wait to make the best decision, you’ll think out all possible scenarios. You’re calm and serious, loyal to your homeland despite all things wrong with it,” Jongdae muses, watching Minseok with something akin to admiration. His anger has melted away by now, leaving him bare. Strangely candid. Oddly honest.

“That’s what Baekhyun meant when he said you were the King and I were the Queen, where we to be pieces on a chess board. You’re the _ruler_ , the one who manages the kingdom, who the people trust and love because of their sense of justice. I am the _enforcer_ at heart. I like making a show of strength. I am the warrior, the one who defends my livelihood and that of my people. That’s where we differ.” Jongdae leans back, pillowing his head on his arm. “That’s why you won’t kneel to me. I want to force people to submit. You simply expect them to. Out of love, not fear.”

“We would make good allies,” Minseok says quietly, once it seems Jongdae’s finished. It’s so quiet after that, that Minseok genuinely thinks that the other has fallen asleep.

“We could still be allies,” Jongdae murmurs before turning over, away from Minseok.

It’s a long time, thinking about it, but finally, Minseok nods. “We _could_ ,” he agrees. Jongdae is already asleep.

Baekhyun’s yet to show up in the morning, leaving he and Jongdae fitfully hungry and increasingly aware of just how exposed they are. Injured, alone. There’s the horse carcass, but Minseok can pick out the sound of buzzards just as easily as he can the quiet _huffs_ of some larger scavenger. He doesn’t particularly want to find out what type of predator it is, either.

He tries to stand up again, and, while successful, it’s still just as painful as it had been before. If not more so, all of his muscles straining and sore. He reaches down to help Jongdae to his feet, trying to be as delicate as he can about gripping the Melasin king’s hands.

Jongdae still whimpers as he finds his feet, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the pain of his bone shifting beneath his skin.

“Let’s walk the way we came. If we’re lucky, we get to the path again, or at least, a little closer to it,” Minseok suggests. Jongdae’s pallor has become more noticeable by the point, and sweat creates a sheen on his forehead. It’s still winter, though, and it being so cold out makes the sweat a concern. Enough to make Minseok nervous, but not to the extent of real panic. Enough for him to worry about Jongdae’s well-being and how likely he’ll be able to trek alongside Minseok.

Though, Minseok has his own problems to worry about as he sets off at an awkward limp, pain lancing up his leg and side.

They make it to the tree line by nightfall, and there, they collapse again, panting. It’s grown exponentially colder by this point, the wind sending chills down Minseok’s spine. He’d lost his fur cloak in the original scuffle that had put he and Jongdae in this position. Jongdae has as well, and though both of them wear a thick tunic—they both sport tears and other gaps in their clothing—it’s not enough to keep them warm.

Minseok leans up against a tree. He’s not as worried about the cold—his temperature’s always run frightfully cold and he’s never had trouble thriving in the snow before. Jongdae, however, is not of the same environment.

The King of Storms has long lost his degree of lucidity. Now, his head lolls to the side, and he watches Minseok with a glaze over his eyes. His lips have little color and his teeth chatter (despite it not being _so_ cold as to really warrant that… yet). He’s in a bad way, so weak that the cold seems colder, and his body simply can’t warm itself. If he dies before Baekhyun finds them, Minseok will also be in for a life of hell. Jongdae had seemed adamant that Baekhyun wouldn’t _kill_ him, but… Minseok’s not sure.

He’s seen how the witch looks at Jongdae when _he’s_ not looking. Sees the adoration in his gaze. He’d be hard pressed to believe Baekhyun wouldn’t take some form of revenge.

So, he reaches over and drags Jongdae into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and helping as best he can to block him from the wind that whistles through the trees.

“I think this is the closest we’ve ever been,” Jongdae murmurs, blinking up at him.

“Perhaps,” Minseok says idly, keeping a careful watch on the trees around them. He does not want to die by a wolf or bear.

“Do you ever miss them?”

“Who?”

“Your lover?” Jongdae says, as though it were obvious. “I think of Baekhyun and all I can think of is how long he’s been at my side. How much he’s devoted himself to _me_. I think of scent, his touch, his voice. He’s got a lovely singing voice.”

“I’ve heard it,” Minseok says, “it’s very nice indeed.” He’s willing to let Jongdae go on, but the man has stopped. He’s waiting for Minseok’s answer. With a sigh, “I have no lover back home. I have nothing but my mother left.”

Jongdae’s silent, then, “How could you not have a lover? There’s not even some tavern girl you go see in the dead of night?”

“I believe we’ve already established I’m not fond of women.”

“Well, you seemed to have internalized your society’s notions about homosexuality, so I figured if you _had_ had anyone it would have been a woman. But, if not a _she_ , then what about a knight? Perhaps, a guardsman. You’re advisor? Kyungsoo?”

Minseok snorts, unable to help himself. “Kyungsoo and are I close because we shared an interest in that type of… disordered love, but he and I are not…”

“Lovers,” Jongdae finishes for him. His eyes slip shut, and for a moment, Minseok thinks he’s fallen asleep, mid-conversation, due to the tiredness of his bones, the weakness in his body. But, then, his eyes flutter open again. “You should find someone you can love after the War is over. It won’t be criminal then,” he murmurs. Now, he does indeed seem to slip into a sleep, unable to keep his eyes open, his mind awake.

Minseok stews on his words, pressed up against him. His body aches, and he’s not entirely sure if he’ll survive this war, but… if he does.

No, there’s nothing waiting for him back at home. He doesn’t _want_ anyone back home. But, the thought of _who_ he wants stays securely at the back of his mind. He’s not sure he’s ready to confront it yet.

The night stretches on, silver moonlight filtering through the trees, speckling them with its reflected light. The trees sway and groan. The temperature continues to drop, and as Jongdae’s fitful shivering continues to worsen, Minseok finds himself wishing more and _more_ that his body were warmer, that he’d actually be of help to the wounded king. It becomes a problem that continues to mount, continues to bite at Minseok’s heart.

He’s genuinely afraid that Jongdae might die. Whether from infection or from his body’s inability to properly handle a colder temperature, he’s not entirely sure. But, it’s becoming _real_.

He strips off his outermost layer and wraps it around Jongdae’s neck and shoulders, tucking it under him so as to keep the chill of the wind from seeping beneath the edges. The cold actually begins to bite at him now, but still, he does not shiver. Still, he _is_ thriving.

Near twilight, he hears hoofbeats. He keeps his tongue, though, waiting to see who the rider is before he calls out. Minseok was not popular in Alfine, and the group that tried to rescue him were not great in number. Even if they were Alfini, it’s not likely he would survive an encounter. And Jongdae would have his throat slit in a heartbeat.

If the horse belongs to a Muk’etin soldier, though… there’s a chance Minseok will still die. But Jongdae will survive for sure. So, the odds are better with the Muk’etin. He’ll only call out if he recognizes a foreigner.

The hoofbeats grow louder. It’s a group of three, dressed in dark colors. Minseok’s unable to identify them until he sees the glint of rings in the moonlight. He recognizes one of them, an opal and gold ring that’s on both Jongdae _and_ Baekhyun’s hands. “ _Sachyred Lokspoye,_ ” He says loudly, repeating how Baekhyun was addressed back in Ch’ewi. He figures the familiar language, the familiar name, will buy him a few seconds. Won’t be as surprising as if Minseok suddenly spoke in any other language.

Baekhyun’s head whips around, his horse physically _sliding_ to a stop. His cloak and furs swirl all around him, and his eyes flash dangerously. _“K_ ʼ _oi!”_ He snarls, undoubtably a curse. Then, he’s drawing his sabre.

It gleams in the silver moonlight. Stark amongst the dark forest.

He rides close, his actions quick—purposeful.

 _“Hlyoke!”_ Jongdae says, his eyes opening wide, his body running tight with tension. He jerks awake and holds his arms in front of Minseok. Having moved, he’s now sat just in front of Minseok, guarding his chest and throat.

Baekhyun _barely_ redirects his blade.

His chest heaves, both in shock and fury. He says something, and though Minseok doesn’t understand the words, he fully recognizes the tone. He thought he’d heard Baekhyun’s ire before. It is _nothing_ compared to this. This is Baekhyun brought down to his blood and bone. This is Baekhyun at his core.

And he _snarls_ with worry, with hate, with undying love for Jongdae. Everything about his body language tells Minseok that Baekhyun’s driven by the terrifying thought that Jongdae could have been dead. And though he isn’t, all the hours Baekhyun has spent horrified are now converted to anger, anger that he thrusts upon Minseok—no doubt thinking that the foreign king is the one to have devised the plot on their lives.

They argue for several minutes, both of them screaming at one another. Jongdae does not move from in front of Minseok, and Baekhyun does not lower his sword.

“I will slit his throat when you sleep, Jongdae,” Baekhyun murmurs, switching to the tongue all three of them share. His words are like ice. “I will drown him in his own blood.” He continues. He switched languages so that Minseok can hear every threat. So that he _knows_ what Baekhyun desires to come of him.

“If you kill him, I’ll throw you to the dogs. If you kill him, you’ll be disobeying my order. You will be killing the man who saved my life.”

Just hours ago, Jongdae was talking about how much he missed Baekhyun, and here he is standing threat-to-threat with the witch. He’s serious. Just as serious as Baekhyun.

They stare at one another. Then, Minseok watches Baekhyun _break_. His shoulders slump and his sword falls from his hand. He dismounts, nearly tripping, and jolts over to Jongdae. He’s saying something, but he doesn’t allow Minseok to know it. Whatever trust had been between them seems to have shattered.

Baekhyun gathers Jongdae up in his arms and hauls him out of Minseok’s hold, snarling to the soldiers still atop their horses. Both of them ride close, dragging Minseok up onto his feet. They tie his hands, then tie them to their saddle. When Minseok looks up, Jongdae’s sat straddled backwards. Baekhyun supports his body, but grips his reins in hand, his fists tight.

And then, he’s off, dashing through the woods. Minseok’s captors move much slower, forced to account for his limp.

They return all the way to Alfine, the sun rising by the time Minseok actually is brought into the city. He’s brought to the prison at the outskirts of town and is thrown inside the courtyard, amongst the other criminals.

No one makes to attack him… yet. But, he does not feel safe. Still, he has little choice, and so, he retreats to the quietest corner of the courtyard. He makes himself as small as possible and sleeps.

***

He’s let out the next morning, after sleeping an entire day undisturbed. He wonders if the prisoners keep their distance because of his general sickliness. Things like that spread quickly inside prison gates. He’d keep away as well. Still, he does not rejoice when he’s collected. For all he knows, Jongdae died in the night, and Minseok is headed to the chopping block to have his head removed from his shoulders.

He’s not, thankfully.

Instead, he’s brought down the winding roads and into an unfamiliar building. “I expected you’d be in the Governor’s Building,” Minseok murmurs upon the sight of both Baekhyun and Jongdae.

Jongdae appears to be in much better health, though. “We wanted to get moving again as quickly as possible, and we don’t want to move the Governess out of her space so soon,” Jongdae says quietly, watching him.

“How was the prison?” Baekhyun comments, his tone snide.

Jongdae immediately snaps at him, stopping him from continuing. “Baekhyun’s still…”

“I understand,” Minseok says simply. “But what do you want with me?”

“You’ll be staying here with us again. You’re the reason I didn’t die, so, I don’t see why anything has to change. I still trust you if you still trust me.”

“That’s sudden.”

“Is it really?” Jongdae asks. “I think it’s worth it. We shouldn’t be fighting. Rather, we should work together. You were right when you said your people would never kneel for me. But, they’ll kneel for you.”

“You want me to govern for you?”

“I want a prosperous empire. They know you. You know them. I can’t think of a better governor.”

“Just a day or so ago, I would have killed you if it meant my escape.”

“But it didn’t,” Jongdae says, his eyes like steel. “You weighed your options and you ruled it out. Because you knew that together, we’d make strong allies.”

“If we’re to be allies, I am no prisoner,” Minseok says simply.

Baekhyun’s immediately arguing, his voice rising as Jongdae argues back. And then, “What is your damn prophecy, again?!”

And Baekhyun cuts off immediately, blinking. Then, he recites the prophecy in his native tongue.

> **_“Pi ai is speskwa a pishtrushtrow el skyustrat_ ** **ʼ** **_kaw ake pishtresh._ **
> 
> From the storms is born a king with eyes like lightning
> 
> **_Pi pike speskwa pishtrushtrow el sawañ ake kaskwoa._ **
> 
> From the snow is born a king with skin like death.
> 
> **_Pi ik_ ** **ʼ** **_speskwa a eshe el skyuk_ ** **ʼ** **_uso kaw._ **
> 
> From the sand is born a god without eyes.
> 
> **_Ikspungkteng pishtrushtrow krostrochy_ ** **ʼ** **_the hlyi._ **
> 
> Twin kings that will flood the world.
> 
> **_Sas skyuplo._ **
> 
> That will conquer.
> 
> **_Sas lokspo a chyo plitsaw._ **
> 
> That will rule a new age.”

Baekhyun is silent after his recitation. His anger is still palpable. He seems unsurprised at his own words. Seems to have known for a while what Minseok and Jongdae have just realized.

“He is the king with skin like death,” Jongdae says. “He is _meant_ to rule with me. Destined to by _your_ god.”

Baekhyun meets his gaze steadily, and then simply says, “Ilina’kai does not worship Cael Lok alone.”

“Nor do I,” Minseok says.

Baekhyun’s gaze flicks over to him and he shakes his head, muttering something in Nech’i, which neither he nor Jongdae know. The tone is biting. Whatever he’d said was not kind. Then, he looks back to Jongdae, saying something before leaving, brushing past Minseok roughly.

“There’s a witch in my ranks that can help heal your leg. Come wait over here.”

Minseok nods, making his way over to the seat he’s been offered. Then, because his curiosity has gotten the better of him, he asks, “What did Baekhyun say to you?”

“He told me to be wary.”


	5. Hand to Hand, Sword to Sword

They leave Alfine for the second time in a week. Jongdae had needed extra time to recuperate and even after Minseok was healed by the magician in their ranks (other than Baekhyun), he’d still been left with lasting damage. His limp was pronounced, even if the pain itself was not bad. In the eyes of the soldiers, it made him look weak.

But, Minseok would not allow their judgements to get to him. He could not afford to. He _wants_ to be useful. Wants to be a King that deserves his title. Baekhyun has yet to speak to him since that night Jongdae had offered him freedom in exchange for loyalty. In fact, it’s as if Baekhyun does not even see him—his iridescent eyes always looking _beyond_ Minseok, at something that isn’t there.

Even now, he rides ahead of Jongdae and Minseok. He does not look back.

Minseok can feel the rift between he and Jongdae, and it worries him. He’d not meant to drive a wedge between them. But, he’s not one to let it get to him. Baekhyun is his own person. It’s not Minseok’s job to remedy his and Jongdae’s relationship.

“Have you always known the entire prophecy?” He asks instead, referring to the omen as it was delivered in full.

“I knew the part about myself and the end, about conquering the world. Baekhyun mentioned there being more a long time ago, but we both never really talked about it. I’d forgotten about it until you were trying to keep me warm—your hands are…”

“Cold?” Minseok says, “They’ve always been that way.”

“Corpse cold.”

“Corpse King,” Minseok reminds by way of explanation.

Jongdae grins, his curly lips lifting the apples of his cheeks. “You fit it perfectly. The prophecy.”

“As do you,” Minseok returns. “Who’s the blind god, in that case?”

Both of them look forward, to Baekhyun. But, Jongdae shakes his head. “Baekhyun’s certainly otherworldly, but he’s not divine. He’s also not blind.”

Minseok nods, agreeing. “Could be metaphorically blind, though. Not physically.”

“He’s not a god,” Jongdae says, securely, as if there is no chance otherwise. But, in the back of his mind, something feels… _wrong_ about that statement.

Minseok does not argue, though, resolving himself not to bring the prophecy up again. “We’ll be entering the Middle Passage in about two days time. Are you ready?”

“What’s it like?” Jongdae asks, “Mutiara and a few other cities in Semma would do business with them, but I can’t say I have a lot of experience.”

Minseok sighs, “Wicor and Miasm are sanctuary nations. When the Valiwyr began to persecute the Wyrfolk, they were forced South, where they created their mixed governments and magicked their defenses. Miasm is home to the faeries, by nature. Dwarves, druids, nymphs, elves, unicorn, and so forth. It’s the more wily of the two nations. You should not make deals with them. They will always create a loophole.”

“Wicor?”

“Halfbloods, cultists, and other magic-folk. The old orcish races live there, as do the wolves and the sanguine. As well as many more humans. It’s significantly more typical to work with them over their neighbors,” Minseok explains. “But, again, they’re a tough people. Their land is alive, their cities are alive. The nations have lasted as long as they have because the land protects itself. As we cross through the plains, we’ll have to be careful of it.”

Jongdae nods, thinking, “How best should I prepare?”

“Send Baekhyun out first. He’s the one that seems to breathe the arcane. If the land thinks of him as magic, it will not reject him. He’ll be a good harbinger for us.”

“I won’t tell him you suggested it,” Jongdae jokes, “But it sounds like a good idea in theory. For now, I think it’s best we camp.”

He motions one of the squires to his side, gives them the word, and sends them down the line of troops. Baekhyun slows ahead of them, obviously catching wind of the squire’s shouts to ready camp. Again, when he turns around, he seems to gaze _past_ Minseok. Never at him.

He doesn’t seem at ease. If anything, far from it. Something about him seems ready to wrestle out of its skin. But, as soon as Minseok makes his observation, the look settles and Baekhyun disappears, trotting past them and down the line, offering words of encouragement to the men as he does so. Jongdae watches him pass wistfully, but does nothing to chase after him. Not yet.

Once their tent is set up, Minseok and Jongdae sit down for a dinner of hare, oil and bread—with a glass of wine to wash everything down. And over their dinner, they talk about their homes, their families, their comeuppances.

“Minkyung, she was my younger sister, but, when you are elected King of the Valiwyr, you forfeit your birthright to your _home_ kingdom. So, she became the heir,” Minseok explains. “She was always given more freedom, though. We were close enough in age that when I was elected, she’d already had time to live her life.”

“She lived it to the fullest,” Jongdae concedes. “She snuck into the Coliseum that day. It was my birthday and, in Melasi, all of the royals would fight on the day they became adults. It was a cause for celebration and the Coliseum was… _alive_. When I realized who I was fighting… it was just mutual respect. She was an incredible fighter. I’d have liked to have gotten to know her.”

Minseok nods. He’s long past his hate. He knows enough about Jongdae now to know that he is not needlessly cruel. His sister’s death had to have been by her own terms—which of course meant that his diplomats had lied to him about the circumstances of her slaughter. But, that was an issue for another day.

“I learned court politics, she learned how to become a general in order to take my place. I’m glad you recognized her worth.”

“Who couldn’t? She reminded me of one of my sisters. Jungah, she rules T’ish. She taught me how to fight.”

“Which one is she?”

“She’s the third youngest. She is the one who know waits for my order to attack Lorraine. Mother originally wanted her to take the Throne. Jungah just had this charism that made her attractive as a leader. And then, when the prophecy was delivered, it was Jungah who convinced my mother to give it merit,” Jongdae says. “I owe everything I know to her. She was like a mother to me—more so than the Carisina, at least.”

Minseok’s heart yearns for his sister, still. But he doesn’t interrupt Jongdae as he explains his upbringing.

“In Melasi, we are given a Keykaad at birth and then we are taught to war. It’s why we have such a nasty reputation in the Valiwyr. They think we’re cruel, that we’re savage, animalistic,” Jongdae seems truly hurt by this, as he ought to be. “We are not. We are only unfamiliar. I would consider many of your peoples’ practices to be just as cruel, just as savage, just as animalistic. And yet, I’m proper enough not to treat them any different from any other person.”

“We’re all human,” Minseok agrees. “It’s sign of a good leader when they recognize the inherent worth in everyone.”

“That’s why Baekhyun could never lead. He is kind to everyone, when unprovoked, but in a diminutive way. As if commoners are like pets, playthings for his entertainment.”

 _Akin to a god,_ Minseok thinks unbidden, but he holds his tongue. “That’s common amongst religious, in my experience. A sort of paternalism.”

Jongdae nods. “Yeah, but… it’s gotten worse the older I’ve gotten. I think it is rare that he leaves the Temple. Of course, I don’t quite know how _he_ works, but… I do know he was not a common sight to see. Even in Ch’ewi, where he apparently ruled, Jongin explained to me that he was not always around. That he’d disappear for months at a time and then reappear with a completely different countenance. But, they loved him there because he met them as he would his friends.”

“Now, it’s different. Perhaps he’s been away from his Temple, his prayer time for a little too long,” Minseok mutters.

Jongdae nods. “Probably.”

Then, he leans back, propping himself up on his elbow, the picture of languor. “Do you miss home?” He asks. The question is similar to the one he’d asked several nights ago, when they were both stuck in the forest, alone, crippled. But, he’s interchanged “love” for “home” now.

“The longer I travel, the more I… think about what it might have been like had I never become King. It’s not that I hate where I come from. I miss it, but… I see what the Valiwyr could be. I see what practices we could have left behind. I see what people we could welcome. And I know that the Valiwyr I return to won’t be what it _should_ be. And I know it will be work, and that what I do to it will change it at the fundamentals, but… I’m not apprehensive. I think it needs to happen.”

“That’s good,” Jongdae murmurs. He yawns.

They’ve not talked about too much, and yet, Minseok feels like he has a better understanding of the Carisine now. “We should rest. After all, we’ll be walking through the Middle Passage soon, and I have a feeling it will not be smooth sailing.”

Jongdae groans, waving Minseok off. But, Minseok catches the slight glint of seriousness in his eyes. This is unchartered territory for Jongdae, and he’s caught between apprehension and courage.

They sleep.

***

At the tree line, Jongdae halts his army. Before them, the Middle Passage stretches forward, its great plains rolling and sweeping, green and amber, weaving in the breeze. Baekhyun has already broken out onto the open path, but, as soon as he had done so, they had _all_ recognized a change in atmosphere.

 _Something is wrong_. The feeling comes back to Minseok at full force as he watches Baekhyun walk forward.

And yet, nothing happens. Baekhyun’s distance continues to grow, and it soon becomes childish for Jongdae to hold the army back on the basis of superstition. He looks to Minseok, who shrugs, unsure, then orders the line to continue.

The Middle Passage is _alive_ with magic. Minseok can feel it as soon as he passes over the threshold. But it is not the type of magic he’s familiar with, the sort of power that both Baekhyun and Jongdae possess. It’s something more juvenile in nature, something more playful, something more mischievous.

They continue on throughout the day, keeping quiet as if speaking would jinx their chances of surviving the Passage without incident. And Baekhyun remains ahead of them, his pace measured and sure.

Until, it isn’t.

It happens close to sundown.

The air stills, everything seemingly hanging in suspension, and then, the ground is erupting around Baekhyun’s horse. Jongdae immediately reels backwards, shock sending his horse colliding into the one behind him. Minseok, likewise, flinches at the explosion of earth.

But his blood does not turn to ice until he hears Baekhyun’s nearly earsplitting scream. It’s hoarse, the type of scream that occurs when a mother loses a child, when a soldier loses a friend. It jumpstarts Minseok into action. Before he can even think of what he’s doing, he’s kicking his horse forwards.

Baekhyun’s magic is palpable. He’s overexerting himself, using it to throw back the great roots that have begun to drag him downwards, towards the churning mass of dirt beneath him. He’ll lose, though. This is not his turf.

And, from the churning underground, crawl _monsters_ , their bodies like snakes, their muzzles like lizards. Their jaws gape, serrated teeth glinting in the red evening light.

Minseok jumps from his horse, his leg nearly giving out underneath him, and thrusts his sword through one of the emerging creatures, looking to Baekhyun.

Only to see the Witch clawing at his face, jaw hanged open, nails drawing long bloody lines from his eyebrows, through his eyes, and down over his cheeks. Minseok’s so shocked that he pauses, losing mind of the fight, and is barreled over by one of the lizard-creatures. It snaps just shy of his face as he slides his dagger into its side, ripping it open.

“Baekhyun!” He yells, hoping to snap him out of whatever fit he’s in. He’s unsuccessful, for Baekhyun just falls to the ground, ducking his head down into his hands. Minseok can still see his fingers working, can only imagine the damage Baekhyun’s doing to his face. He’s blubbering, yelling in a language Minseok’s unfamiliar with. But, it’s not a battle-cry, nor is it a scream of pain anymore. It’s abject _horror_.

Minseok kills another of the creatures, struggling to keep his balance in the churning earth. An arrow whizzes past his head, the force of it throwing a jumping creature backwards. It’s dead. He looks out of the mass of motion, of conflict, to see Jongdae keeping careful watch with his bow, his face worried, but serious, focused.

“Baekhyun!” Minseok repeats, trudging through the earth towards Baekhyun’s side. The Witch’s magic is _biting_ in its intensity. It burns at Minseok’s skin, feels like poison seeping through his veins.

He reaches out, vainly, and feels skin beneath his fingers.

His magic is _stolen outwards_ , exploding from the both of them with such force that the ground ripples up around them, a wave of dirt rippling outwards. The creatures _pause_ , as if seeing the both of them in a new light.

When Baekhyun looks up, his face drips _gold_. Minseok cannot make out his eyes from the mess of gore on him, but he understands raw power when he sees it. He takes a step back, but Baekhyun does not release his hand. He holds it tight, keeping their magic joined as one.

**_“Low p_ ** **ʼ** **_ush lel!”_ **

Be at peace.

Baekhyun says, his voice rippling over the earth.

And everything comes to a halt.

Whatever power possessed Baekhyun to speak, however, rescinds nearly immediately. For a mere second later, he’s releasing Minseok’s hand and _sobbing_. He curls inward, his hands scrabbling for his face, pressing his fingers in the gore and ichor.

Minseok’s horrified and immediately removes his cloak to press it against Baekhyun’s face, sopping up the ichor, but also protecting his delicate skin from his pointed nails. “Jongdae,” he shouts, letting the other king know that it’s safe to approach now.

Baekhyun’s horse is dead, but Minseok’s and Jongdae’s are both still in good health. He gathers Baekhyun up in his arms. The witch is surprisingly light, and he doesn’t fight. It’s as if all strength has drained from his body, leaving him limp, pitiful. He lifts him up to Jongdae, who pulls him into his lap in the saddle. Then, he’s swinging back up onto his horse.

“We need to stop in one of the cities. He might have a fit or worse. He did that to himself,” Minseok says, pointing at Baekhyun and the cloth pressed to his face. Jongdae’s yet to see the worst of the wound, but he seems significantly shaken.

“How long of a ride is it?”

“Two days to the West and we reach Wicor,” Minseok says, “And we can give the soldiers as good a rest as possible.”

“They’ll lose morale if we have to stop for health again. We are their paramounts. If they watch us delay over and over again, where does their faith go?”

“Then leave Baekhyun in Wicor. Send a squire with him to the city. And we’ll continue forwards without him,” Minseok says, “He needs medical attention better than what our mage can give.”

Jongdae shakes his head, unwilling to make a decision. Minseok reaches for his hand, wanting to redirect his attention. Instead, their magic sparks together, traveling through the both of them and into Baekhyun, courtesy his proximity to Jongdae.

He gasps, but immediately after, sighs, as if put at peace. Jongdae pulls away the cloth only to watch as Baekhyun’s skin begins to knit together, the flow of ichor stopping as it does so. And then, Baekhyun’s _out_ , his head lolling forward against Jongdae’s chest, his body going completely boneless.

Minseok releases Jongdae’s hand.

They look at each other, shocked, but now’s not the time to be learning about their magic.

“I’m going to put him on the cart with the lame soldiers,” he says, referring to the men that cannot march long distances easily. “And we will continue forwards out of the Middle Passage, into the Valiwyr Mountains. We _have_ to prepare for our assault. I have to get word to my sister, still. We _cannot_ delay.”

Minseok is still, weighing their options, then, he concedes. “Fine. Give him to me. I’ll bring him to the cart, you ought to be leading the troops.”

Jongdae presses the cloth back to Baekhyun’s face, then transfers him to Minseok’s grip. He returns to the front of the line and begins to direct them forward once more. Minseok, on the other hand, cradles Baekhyun to his chest, cantering his horse about midway down the line, where the cart is being pulled. The soldiers immediately make a place for him, a couple of them sliding off the back of the cart to give Baekhyun more room.

“Get back on, you cannot march,” Minseok says simply, urging them back in place. “Just hold him in your lap. Keep him from jostling too much, he has a head injury,” he says by way of explanation. The men nod, then accept Baekhyun into their arms, resting him across their laps.

“I’ll come retrieve him when we set up camp, whenever that is,” Minseok says, nodding to the men. They agree, respectfully, and Minseok is gone—returning back to the front of the line.

He’s silent for several minutes, and then, _“From the sand is born a god without eyes.”_

Jongdae sucks in a breath. “What god is he?”

“Ilina’kai. The barrier. Why else would his magic be so strong on the sea, in the desert? Why else would the Temple appear on his command?”

Jongdae offers no more question, simply closing his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering shut momentarily. A long while later, he speaks again. “What could a god ever see in me?”

Minseok shakes his head, similarly dumbfounded.

***

They set up camp after two days of marching, with minimal breaks in between. In this time, Baekhyun does not wake up from whatever slumber he’d fallen into. And Jongdae’s army goes unchallenged. There are times when a group of what could be mercenaries or simply vagabonds appear on the crest of a hill, but they are never attacked.

Sometimes, these groups join the march. Minseok’s not had the chance to meet many of them, isn’t really interested in meeting them (given all the old fairytales he’d been told, he’s known to beware of them). But now, as he walks down the line to retrieve Baekhyun, he sees them, greets them with respect.

And they meet him with curious looks, following his movements.

Minseok draws his horse up next to the cart Baekhyun still lies in. The soldiers’ tents have largely been set up, but there’s still a couple of soldiers sat next to Baekhyun, guarding him. They transfer him from the cart into Minseok’s hold.

He brings him back to the tent he shares with Jongdae, setting him down on an unused, third pallet. Jongdae immediately brings over a bowl of water and a clean cloth, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to Baekhyun. He pulls the crude wrap away from Baekhyun’s face, exposing his injury to the open air.

Minseok winces. “He tore himself up,” he says quietly, scanning the damage. Baekhyun’s effectively gouged deep cuts through his eyes. His eyelids, eyebrows, and cheeks have deep claw marks in them from where Baekhyun had dug his nails in and _torn_ through his flesh. His eyes still have that iridescent quality they once had, but they have less of a gloss, more of a matte, milky appearance. He is blind, without a doubt.

Jongdae begins to wash the cuts, cleaning golden ichor out of Baekhyun’s tear ducts, off of his lips, chin, neck. Minseok gets a pail of water himself, as well as some fragrance, oil, and soap. He sets to washing Baekhyun’s hair free of all the sticky “blood.”

Baekhyun wakes half way through his treatment, his body seeming to hum as it comes to life, his magic restarting, his countenance rejuvenated. And just as quickly as he’d seemed to be growing _well_ , he begins to panic, struggling to blink, pain obviously radiating through his face. Minseok puts the soap down and leans over to pin his wrists as Jongdae talks him out of his panic, the gentle tones of their shared language doing wonders to settle him down.

Minseok releases his wrists and resumes washing Baekhyun’s hair, massaging his scalp, striving to help soothe him.

 _“Chy_ ʼ _ut_ ʼ _pishtrushtrow, eshe,”_ he murmurs. Jongdae doesn’t seem to hear him, asking him to repeat himself. Minseok heard, but the syllables don’t stick. He doesn’t repeat for Jongdae to hear, and neither does Baekhyun. The words will go untranslated for now, hanging in the air like a promise.

Baekhyun slips back into a sleep as Minseok finishes rinsing his hair. “We should clean his body as well,” he says quietly, “He might have other injuries and, given all the mud, we should probably clean them out. Especially since he refused the mage when she last tried to help him.”

Jongdae nods, unlacing the front of Baekhyun’s shirt, passing the lip of it to Minseok to tug over his head. He undoes the laces at Baekhyun’s waist, slipping his pants down his legs, tugging the long pair of underwear with it. He tugs off boots and socks, then, takes Baekhyun’s pants off completely, piling them in the corner.

“I’m going to bring these to a servant to have washed,” Jongdae says, standing up, clothes in hand. He disappears, leaving Minseok alone with Baekhyun.

It’s impossible not to look at his body. He’s already seen Baekhyun naked, but at his prime, when he practically glowed with magic. Like this, Baekhyun looks frail. His skin has a sickly pallor to it, and he’s got bruises running up his frame. Scars Minseok had never noticed seem obvious in the candlelight now that he’s looking. One of them runs from Baekhyun’s sternum down to his right hip. It’s the type of scar that suggests he’d been gutted in the past.

How he survived…

Minseok shakes his head, dipping a new washcloth in the clean basin of water and getting to work wiping down Baekhyun’s tired body. Jongdae joins him a minute later, sitting next to him, thigh pressed to Minseok’s. He treats Baekhyun with familiarity. Seems to know just how flexible Baekhyun’s joints are, just where to massage his muscles to relieve some tension.

They roll him over, gentle as ever, and wipe him down again. He comes to, fingers tapping at the ground, and then, he reaches over, feeling around, then grabbing Jongdae’s hand in his, lacing their fingers.

Jongdae returns to his soft, little lullabies, meant to put Baekhyun back under, but the witch remains lucid. He’s still and calm and Jongdae and Minseok finish washing him, then, shakily, he pushes himself onto his knees.

Jongdae helps him up, supporting him as they walk over to Jongdae’s pallet. Baekhyun curls up in the blankets immediately, seemingly at home. Jongdae and Minseok continue their own night time routine before finally sinking into their own pallets. Jongdae curls around Baekhyun securely, but his eyes are on Minseok.

They put the candles out, and Minseok’s breath evens out, and above it all, Baekhyun’s voice rises like a whisper.

“You were right. He’s the one.”

***

They decide to keep camp for a few days to allow the soldiers a rest before the terrain takes a turn for the worse. Already, they’re in the foothills of the Valiwyr Range from which the Council gets it name, but soon, they’ll be climbing the craggy peaks to create an offensive position against the Capitol Kingdom Ocalle.

In the meantime, Jongdae helps Minseok with his magic once again. As so far, all Minseok’s been capable of doing is massive waves of attacks. The only controlled magic he’s exhibited has been summoning snowflakes or ice into his hands, but beyond that, he lacks the ability to defend himself, or to deliver a _pointed_ offensive.

And Minseok’s come to cherish these moments working with Jongdae. Mostly, they’re sparring—Jongdae using his electricity against Minseok’s ice. At first, Jongdae’s consistently getting thrown back by the wave of Minseok’s magic, but soon, he adjusts to defend himself, and thats when the fight evens out and Minseok’s magic becomes more of a hindrance than an aide.

That’s when Minseok’s forced to use his magic like a sword.

Baekhyun often sits on the edge of their ring, cross-legged, his hands dug into the earth. His magic sits latent around them, acting like a sixth sense. He _watches_ them through the arcane, rather than through his physical eyes. Sometimes, he offers help. Most times, he prevents their magic from rocketing outside of the ring and injuring any of the various men that have come to watch the two kings fight—their curiosity getting the better of them.

“Jongdae is impulsive,” Baekhyun offers halfway through one of their fights. This has been the most evenly matched so far. Minseok’s gotten a handle on his magic in theory and now only struggles to make that theory into practice.

He digs his heel into the ground, strengthening his stance, and watches Jongdae from across the circle. He’s _alive_ like this, with lightning running up his arms, flashing in his gaze. _Impulsive_ , Minseok thinks, taking Baekhyun’s words into account.

Then, his foil is patience.

Minseok waits to attack, holding himself back even though his magic _thrums_ with the need to race outwards.

Jongdae loses his patience first, striking forward in two quick steps. But, Minseok had been ready for this. He sends a small wave of magic towards Jongdae’s chest, and a larger wave up through the ground, at his legs. Great icicles split up from the earth, traveling in a great line up to Jongdae. They pause just shy of spearing him through.

Minseok knocks him to his back with another blow of magic.

At the edge of the ring, there’s applause. This is the first Minseok’s bested Jongdae since they began sparring for _real_ , with Minseok actively controlling his magic.

He’s _elated_.

The next fights are evenly matched, both of them trying harder and harder to best the other. They’re slow fights, hard, tough. And Baekhyun always sits at the edge, keeping their magic restrained. When Minseok glances at him, though, Baekhyun is smiling.

Not all good things last, it seems. He hears the sound of hoofbeats, and reluctantly stops fighting. Jongdae catches on, stopping a beat later. There’s a scout approaching.

“There is an army to the East.”

“Miasm,” Minseok says quietly. “The Faerie Courts are really going to fight us?”

“There are Northern Banners with them. The Wolf,” the scout describes.

Minseok’s blood runs cold. Jongdae looks at him, undoubtably because he _too_ recognizes what the wolf sigil means. It is Airabard, House of the Wolf. It is Minseok’s birth kingdom. It is his people. He’ll be fighting his own mother.

Jongdae immediately pulls him aside. “You don’t have to be a part of the charge like I intend to be.”

“I do,” Minseok says, shaking his head. “I have to. Otherwise, what ally am I?” He motions for his horse to be brought to him, Jongdae mirroring his movements. Both of them swing up into their respective saddles. “Airabardians are used to fighting on the open plain. They’re skilled at archery and heavy-weight weapons. They’ll likely ride _gilits_ as well as horses.”

“And _gilits_ are?”

“Buffalo-like, with front legs like a bear and back legs like a horse. They’re stout, so you’ll be able to reach the riders easily, but the animals will be heavily armored. They’ll not go down easily. It’s likely they’ll be used to break our formations.”

So, Jongdae immediately sends word down the line. He wants his army more spread out as the get into formation. He doesn’t want ranks to break, he wants them to be able to converge on those that fall into their lines. Minseok stays near the front of the line, watching, until he remembers Baekhyun.

The Witch has swung up into a saddle. His new horse is nothing like the sleek steed he’d been using prior. This one is weighty, draft-like. Its mane and tail are close cropped, its pelt as muddy brown. The mare is not saddled, nor bridled. Baekhyun simply wraps his fingers in the thick clump of hair that remains long near the base of her neck.

“You’re not going to battle,” Minseok says.

Baekhyun cocks his head, his magic feeling out the area. “I have to have proximity,” Baekhyun says quietly. “Otherwise I’ll not be able to save you when I need to.”

“You won’t have to save us, I swear it,” Minseok says. “You cannot see. You’ll be killed long before you pose any chance of helping us,” he reasons.

Baekhyun’s face twists, frustrated, but he cannot argue. He _will_ die if he rides onto the battlefield.

“Wait on the hill. If you truly feel like something is wrong, you’ll be free to run your horse to us, but I _promise_ he will not die,” Minseok says.

His hands clench in his horse’s mane. He’s quiet. Then, like he’s uttering some great revelation, he says, “You cannot die either.” And it’s surprising, because, while Baekhyun has not been venomous towards him since Minseok saved him, he has not expressed the same sort of affection he might have once teased. “You’re important.”

“To who?”

“To me. To him. To all of them,” he says, motioning around them. “I’ll wait on the hill with one of the squires,” he finally agrees, guiding his horse to turn around. His magic searches out Jongdae’s squire, and he disappears beyond the tents. Minseok can only hope he won’t do something stupid.

A few hours later sees Minseok’s first look at the opposing army. Indeed, Miasm’s military waits in the valley, behind them, the Northern Army. On a hill, a good league away, there are the ant-like figures of who is no doubt his mother’s general, perhaps even his mother, and the Faerie Queens.

He also gets to see just how nervous the opposing army gets as Jongdae’s crests the hill. Unlike their leaders, Jongdae and Minseok ride in the front line of their army, leading the march. Minseok on a cream horse, it’s mane waving in the wind. Jongdae on a white horse, mud spattering its chest, armor glinting.

Behind them both, Baekhyun waits, far enough away as not to be in danger of any volley of arrows.

Minseok watches as the command is given to the archers. Notch your arrows, draw your bows, release.

The line of arrows embeds just shy of where Jongdae has stopped the troops. He turns to them, raising his spear high above his head. In the sky, storm clouds begin to brew. As he holds his weapon high, lightning streaks down from the sky, lighting him up. He gives the rallying cry, his words encouraging, loud. He’s speaking his native tongue, but Minseok knows a rallying speech when he hears one. Knows how to recognize a good one.

And this is a good one. He can feel the morale of the soldiers swell up behind them. They _adore_ Jongdae. They respect him because he fights like they do. A warrior as much as he is a king.

Baekhyun’s observations come racing back to him. Jongdae is the Queen, the conqueror, the warrior. And Minseok, Minseok is the King, the patient planner. The judge.

Jongdae turns to face the opposing army, and then, he’s kicking his horse into action. He peels away with their first wave of offense. And Minseok stays behind, shouting orders down their line of archers. His job is to watch, to modify their attack as needed. To hold the core of Jongdae’s force in line.

Jongdae’s put a great deal of trust in him, and weeks ago, Minseok might have stabbed him in the back. But, he said he would be an ally, and he doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean.

The battle goes well, until Minseok’s forced to ride the second wave of offense, this time, rushing away with them. Meeting the army of the faerie courts.

He rides with a spear this time, not his sword (though it remains attached at his hip), and his armor is modified to support his new weapon. While one arm remains mobile, unencumbered by heavier plating, the other is covered with weighty metal. Weapons glance off of it, giving Minseok enough time to slaughter and spear.

He’s knocked from his horse after several minutes of slaughter, but quickly races to his feet, swinging with deadly efficiency. He’s a warrior at heart, just as skilled as Jongdae.

Gathering his magic, he throws a circle around himself, gaining a little more time to look around and take stock of the situation. The mass of their army has joined the fight by this time, surrounding the opposing troops and moving inwards. Choking them.

Minseok slaughters a faerie, feeling its magic sputter and start to run. Almost on instinct, he reaches out, gripping the arcane energy and adding it to his own stores. It rejuvenates him. The magic feels at home with him.

He continues to fight, eventually swinging back up into the saddle of a rider-less horse. The vantage point shows him that Jongdae’s more than holding his own—seems to be enjoying the fight a great deal—but it also shows him something he never thought he’d see.

A trio of riders streak on the far end of the plain. Minseok follows their track, sees where they’re headed.

 _Baekhyun_.

He gasps, horror lacing through his veins, and urges his horse in the direction of the hill to their back, where Baekhyun stands like a waiting duck. Jongdae spots him in the throng, follows his gaze, and similarly falters.

Lightning crashes down in front of Minseok, clearing a path for him to leap his horse over. He’s still hindered by the throngs of men, his spear cutting and piercing.

He loses it just before breaking free of the mass. On the open field, he draws his sword and digs his heels into his horse’s flank, sending it galloping towards Baekhyun.

He’s going to be too late.

Minseok watches the exact moment Baekhyun’s sixth sense picks up on the trio. Watches as the Witch throws his hands up, the ground erupting outwards. It slows his attackers, but it does not stop them.

Instead of racing away on his horse, he drops to the ground, digging his hands into the earth. _Ilina’kai, the God of Barriers,_ Minseok remembers in the back of his mind. _The sea, barrier between above water and below. The ground, above ground and below_.

He’s drawing magic by forcing a barrier, an in-between.

But he’s far too vulnerable.

Jongdae’s squire meets one of the riders with his sword, but is bodied off of his horse. He’s cut down mere seconds later. But, the distraction’s enough for Minseok to come crashing into the party. His horse narrowly avoid running _Baekhyun_ over, colliding with one of the other riders. The horse’s ribs crack, their armor clinking together, warping, cutting. Minseok leans forward, following the momentum of the crash, and drags the other rider down to the ground with him.

His sword’s knocked from his hand, as is his enemy’s. They tussle, struggling to get the upper hand against one another. In the brief flashes Minseok’s able to look over to Baekhyun, to make sure he’s alive, he watches the Witch wrestle with his own attacker, having successfully disarmed them.

Minseok refocuses on his fight, gasping when he realizes who’s beneath his hands.

They recognize him too, and for a moment, there’s absolute silence, the fight bleeding from both of their limbs.

Minseok recovers first, weighing his options, his loyalties. For beneath him, his cousin. Behind him, Baekhyun, who is rapidly losing his fight.

He draws his dagger and slits his cousin’s throat, turning in time to see Baekhyun kick his attacker away and scramble backwards, rolling on the uneven incline. Before Minseok can do anything, however, the rider stands up, rigid. His body seems to convulse, and then, blood begins to seep out of his metal armor. He reaches up, grabbing his helmet and throwing it to the ground, slapping his hands to his face.

Blood bubbles past his fingers, seeping down the back of his hands.

He drops dead.

Minseok looks over at Baekhyun, who’s breathing heavily, his face gradually regaining its color. Finger marks bruise around his throat.

Again, a barrier, an in-between. Life and Death.

Baekhyun gasps, getting to his feet. Minseok looks around, one of the four horses is still milling around, so he quickly retrieves it, bringing it back up the hill to Baekhyun. He swings into the saddle, then reaches down to grab Baekhyun’s arm and pull him up into the saddle as well. “Help me with my magic,” he directs, wrapping Baekhyun’s arms around his middle before grabbing the reins.

He turns back to the battlefield. He can think of only one way to cut things short. Kill their generals, their queens, and the soldiers lose their morale. They give up.

Because what reason is there to fight for when your rulers are dead.

He races across the fields, arrows occasionally whipping past his head, never hitting. Baekhyun’s magic puts up an invisible bubble around them, keeping them safe from the deadly projectiles.

Jongdae breaks free of the army at the same time as Minseok begins to climb the hill towards the generals and other leaders. Lightning strikes, rattling Minseok to the core, and the skies above them _finally_ break open, sheets of rain falling to the ground.

Minseok strikes out with his magic, feeling it race through his hand, down into the ground. Great spires of ice erupt from the ground, impaling and scattering the forces on the hill. His attention goes straight to the Airabardian General.

That was once his position.

His sword collides with the general’s, the force of the blades ringing up their arms, chattering in his teeth.

Baekhyun keeps himself tucked to Minseok’s back. He’s the most vulnerable, but Minseok won’t allow him to be hurt. Nor will Jongdae, as the Prince joins the fight properly. He wields a northman’s dagger now, no longer any spears, but he cuts with deadly efficiency.

One of the faerie queens falls to the ground, dead, and Minseok, having learned, immediately drains her magic from her corpse (before it can disappear into the atmosphere), and uses the magic to attack forward again.

Ice coats the general’s arm, running up to his helmet and face. He reaches up, lifting his visor, and Minseok sees that the man recognizes him. _“Witch,”_ he says in their native tongue. _“A filthy heathen,”_ he snarls.

Minseok thrusts his sword into a gap in the general’s armor, holding him in place, then shoving him off the blade. The man’s body flops backwards, his horse running away, spooking at the corpse tangled in its stirrups.

Leaving a single faerie queen.

She’s retreated somewhat, and she’s calling out to her troops. As Minseok and Jongdae watch, the army begins to fall back, their weapons pointed to the ground. The Airabardian troops see the retreat and follow in kind.

They look to the faerie queen, and she drops her sword in surrender.

They’ve won.

***

They allow the faerie queen to return to her city, though not before Baekhyun sits and walks them through a binding pact with her. And, while the fae are clever, even they bow to the power of a god (which Minseok is nearly certain Baekhyun is at this point).

The terms are that, though she won’t be called on to fight in their war on the Valiwyr, she is a ward of Jongdae’s Empire. She is a governess beneath him, not a queen. She will not mount an offensive against them. She cannot betray them by any means. She agrees readily to this, until Baekhyun murmurs something in a language Minseok’s unfamiliar with. Likely Brutish or some other Old Tongue.

The Faerie immediately refuses, snarling at him. But, with a blade leveled at her heart, she has little choice. Whatever else she promises is coerced, stolen from her, but it is a promise nonetheless. She is bound for eternity to whatever terms Baekhyun had added.

They all retreat to Miasm to give the soldiers rest and recuperation.

In only a couple of weeks, they will be mounting the offensive on Ocalle.

Minseok sits down at the desk in their shared room, placing down a bowl of stew and a mug of beer. He passes a spoon to Jongdae, who’s also sat at the desk. He takes it gratefully and eats from the bowl Minseok’s grabbed for him. Minseok sips on his beer, glancing at whatever it is that Jongdae’s writing.

He doesn’t recognize the characters. Must be Muk’etin then, that he’s speaking. “Letter home?” He asks.

Baekhyun stretches out on the bed behind them, his bones and joints popping. “He’s writing to his beloved sister,” he reveals, purring as he relaxes back into the sheets and blankets. Minseok remembers that he’ll have to get his cot set up before bed.

“What he said,” Jongdae agrees. “I’m telling Jungah that we’re a few weeks out. A quick rest before we start marching. She’ll begin to ready her ships. We have to remember to send the scouts with their signals to the coast.”

“Of course,” Minseok agrees, leaning his head on his palms. It’s really coming. _The_ battle. The pinnacle of their war. If the Valiwyr falls, then Jongdae has almost completed his prophecy. He says as much, his tone careful, waiting to see what Jongdae thinks of this.

“It’s your prophecy too,” Jongdae says, glancing over at Baekhyun. The Witch nods slowly, agreeing.

Minseok still feels like Baekhyun’s hiding something from them, but he makes no comment. Instead, Minseok mulls over the possibility that soon everything will be over. Or at least, the massive battles will be. They still have to conquer the other kingdoms in the Valiwyr, and return to conquer Wicor, but…

“What’s going to happen if we win?” He muses.

Baekhyun hums, but offers no advice.

“You govern the West, and I intend to return to the East,” Jongdae says.

Baekhyun scoffs, “Rulers ought to govern together, so that they remain familiar with one another and never desire to steal power from the other. If you reinstate Minseok, you ensure that your Empire will not last.”

“Then what do you suggest is done?” Minseok asks.

“Wed,” Baekhyun says simply. “The King of the West partner to the King in the East. The rising sun, the dying sun. You become one, of equal merit, of equal standing.”

“We don’t love each other,” Minseok says quickly, eyes wide.

“Marriage is for politics,” Baekhyun murmurs, “you can fall in love with your partner, but it is a political agreement for people of your caliber, not an act of affection. Were you going to choose a Queen who you loved?”

Minseok stands up and leaves the room, his boots thumping down the porch stairs and onto the cobbled street. It’s late, not really suitable for him to be walking around unarmed. But, judging by the footsteps gaining behind him, he’s no longer alone. So, there’s that.

“Baekhyun simply says what’s on his mind,” Jongdae says, “he doesn’t know tact.”

“He does. He just didn’t think it was necessary in that scenario,” Minseok argues. He readjusts his route, stepping to the side so that Jongdae can more easily fit on the road beside him.

Jongdae sighs, kicking at a stone idly. “Is it really so bad?”

“What?”

“Marrying me?” Jongdae asks quietly. When Minseok glances over at him, he’s looking away.

Minseok rolls his eyes. “We cannot marry, the Valiwyr would lose all respect for me. I’d never be able to rule.”

“Perhaps, you can’t rule apart from me,” Jongdae says quietly. “Your advisor, Kyungsoo. He’s been in Melasi learning about our culture. How loyal would he be to me?”

“He would be loyal to me,” Minseok corrects. “To his death. He made vows to be in my service.”

“We can make him governor of the Valiwyr and you can come back to the East with me. So long as you are well, he will take care of the Valiwyr loyally.”

“This doesn’t solve anything about _my_ place. About _my_ rank. It solves only your problems in wresting, and retaining control.”

“You will still marry me. Because I see you as equal, because I need your counsel if I’m to rule an Empire that includes the West. Except, like this, we won’t be apart from one another.”

“Jongdae, I hardly even know you,” Minseok argues.

“But that’s not true,” he murmurs, gripping Minseok’s hand and jerking him to a stop. “We talked for _hours_ about what we were like growing up. You’ve been on the warpath with me for weeks now. You know how I sleep, you know how I eat, you know how I like my clothes folded. And I know the same about you.” He continues, “I know your _magic_. It feels like coming _home_ to me. And surely, you feel the same, don’t you? It’s like we’re meant to work together as one.”

On cue, Jongdae lets his magic bubble up, lets it thrum between their interlocked fingers. Minseok, belatedly, allows his own magic to the surface. Indeed, it seems to sing when it interacts with Jongdae’s.

He leans forward, kissing Minseok. His lips are electric, sending a shockwave of warmth through Minseok’s body.

But, the kiss is quick. It’s fleeting. Jongdae pulls away, his cheeks blushed. “I’m not going to force you to marry me. You can just be my advisor, if you so wished. But… I think we’re meant to be together. Fate and all that…” He steps back, away from Minseok, “Please… consider it. Consider… _me?_ ” He asks.

Minseok nods slowly, and Jongdae’s disappearing back down the street, leaving Minseok alone, in a turmoil of thoughts.

***

Days later, he’s sat just outside the city, out in the fields, beside a stream. He’s alone for a long while, but now, he can hear footsteps, stumbly and unsure, but footsteps nonetheless. He calls out, already figuring he knows who it is without even having to turn around.

Baekhyun hones in on his voice, joining him at the stream a few minutes later. He unlaces his boots, sticks his feet in the cold, winter water. Only then does he begin to chat. At first, it’s about inane things like, what does Minseok think of Miasm? Does he like the weather now that it’s growing colder? Is he healthy? How’s his leg?

And Minseok answers patiently, despite knowing that there’s got to be a reason Baekhyun’s seeking him out. When Baekhyun’s ready to reveal himself, he will. Right now, Minseok’s fine with being pleasant.

“Do you remember what they called me in Ch’ewi? It’s what you called out to me when I found you with Jongdae outside Alfine.”

 _“Sachyred Lokspoye.”_ Minseok says after a moment of thought.

“Do you know what that means?” Baekhyun asks, picking at the grass beneath him. Minseok shakes his head before remembering Baekhyun cannot see him.

“I don’t.”

Baekhyun hums. For several long minutes, he just picks at the grass, lost in thought. Allowing their conversation to hang unfinished. Then, “Before the Gods’ War, Cael Lok and Sawo Lok were like one. And, between them, Ilina’kai acted as their Sceptre. Their Enforcerer, their Word, their Law.”

“ _Lokspoye._ Sceptre,” Minseok reasons. Baekhyun nods, agreeing. “And you are Ilina’kai.”

“Indeed.”

“Is that why you want us to wed? Jongdae and I. Because we are champions for Sawo Lok and Cael? It resets that old balance?” Minseok asks.

Baekhyun inclines his head ever so slightly, but the hum he gives is noncommital. “Not quite,” he says. He does not elaborate.

“What was the Gods’ War then?” Minseok asks, understanding he’s not going to get much out of Baekhyun.

“Sawo Lok and Cael Lok experienced a rift over humanity. Cael Lok wanted to be strict with their creation, but Sawo Lok preferred a more hedonistic sense of being. They began to fight, Cael Lok retreating to the West, Sawo Lok staying in the East. Both gods created a champion for themselves. Sawo Lok created Nen, the Colossus, and Cael created the Wyrm. Nen was thrown into the Eastern Sea, where the heat of their fall from the heavens created the Isati, also known as the Sear.” Baekhyun explains, his voice rising and falling with the story. “And Sawo Lok tried to kill the Wyrm, but it buried itself deep inside the Earth, where they could not reach it. There, it waits for its master to call it once more.”

Minseok has seen the old pictures of it, a worm like creature, almost golem like, actually. Made of stone and earth, that churns the earth.

“Both gods continued to fight, finally severing their connection to one another completely. This disorder between them is what caused all the evil in the world,” Baekhyun says. “But the gods mourned the loss of one another. They are two sides of the same coin. Intrinsically meant to act as one,” Baekhyun explains. “So, they each called upon Ilina’kai separately and they made a promise.”

Baekhyun looks like he has more to say, but he falls quiet, mulling over unsaid words.

“What happens next?” Minseok asks. He doesn’t see what Baekhyun’s getting at. Doesn’t get the point of talking in riddles and myths.

Baekhyun shakes his head, dispelling his thoughts. “I’m sorry, what was I saying?” He asks. Something about his tone makes Minseok feel like he knows very well what he’d been saying, but the King allows it to slide.

“Nothing,” he says, “It’s best we head back, now, don’t you think?”

“Actually,” a new voice says. “I was hoping to join you?”

Minseok glances up. Jongdae’s bundled up, obviously doing his best to combat the cold out here in the open. Baekhyun, though unbothered by it, doesn’t quite seem to play by the same rules as mortals do.

Minseok sighs, “Come sit,” he agrees.

Jongdae seats himself in the grass, close to, but not touching Minseok. “Is Baekhyun causing you trouble?” He jokes, leaning over to rustle Baekhyun’s hair affectionately.

Minseok grins, “Just his usual tales.”

Baekhyun groans, getting to his feet. “I’ll give you two time alone, then,” he says.

Minseok takes his hand and gently tugs him back down. “I didn’t mean to chase you away. Please, stay.” Baekhyun pauses for only a moment before acquiescing and allowing Minseok to pillow him against his side. “I thought about what you said Jongdae,” he says next.

Jongdae stiffens next to him.

“I think Kyungsoo would make a good governor,” he says quietly, “And I think I’d like to… see more of Melasi.”

Jongdae processes his words slowly, “Then, you want to return with me. As an advisor?” He asks. Minseok pretends he can’t hear the disappointed lilt in Jongdae’s voice. But, he _can,_ and that’s evidence enough that they _have_ gotten comfortable with one another.

“As a King.”

Jongdae pauses, then, he’s grinning, blindingly bright. “ _My_ King.”

But Minseok shakes his head, “Equals,” he says. Jongdae’s grin doesn’t even falter. He nods.

As equals, then. Minseok allows his heart to flutter at the thought, at the visual picture of Jongdae’s elation. They _have_ grown closer since Alfine. It’s mutual respect and mutual attraction all bundled up into one.

And if Minseok’s going to accept his magic, he can accept his sexuality.

It’s why he doesn’t flinch when Jongdae leans close and kisses him, just as soft as a few nights ago. His lips are plush against Minseok’s, smooth and soft. He begins to draw away, but Minseok chases him, deepening the kiss.

Jongdae sighs into it, lacing his fingers with Minseok’s.

On Minseok’s right, Baekhyun hums. “How sweet,” he murmurs, breath washing over Minseok’s neck.

He and Jongdae break away, Jongdae putting a finger to his lips for quiet. Then, he looks to Baekhyun and leans in, pecking him on the lips.

Minseok watches Baekhyun _melt_ into affection, his cheeks blushing, his smiles sweetening. It’s a beautiful look on him—love. And then, Jongdae’s encouraging Minseok to do the same.

He hesitates, unsure as Baekhyun turns to him. Perhaps back before they’d entered Ch’ewi, Minseok had been closer with Baekhyun, but since then, he’s lacked intimacy with the witch. But, he’s still… _interested_. Baekhyun’s attractive and he’s loyal. He’s just had a slightly rockier relationship with Minseok. One filled with highs and lows. They are inherently _different_ whereas Jongdae and he as so much more similar.

But then, Baekhyun’s parting his lips, the softest little sigh seeping from his mouth as he does so. Minseok tilts his head, kissing him sweetly, gently—aware that Baekhyun’s blindness makes it more difficult for him to properly gauge what’s happening.

Baekhyun does not flinch, only allows Minseok to kiss him, laughing quietly into the kiss. When he draws back, Baekhyun’s face is flushed with a pink blush, and his lips are a slightly darker shade. “For a virgin, you kiss well,” and then Baekhyun cackles, ducking the swipe Minseok means to deliver him, and scrambling away from the stream.

Baekhyun’s feeling the way out ahead of him, his magic scouring the earth for the best path. So, they make to get up and follow him (help him).

Jongdae still looks elated when he helps Minseok to his feet.


	6. Siege the Kingdom

The trek into the mountains tries them _hard_. Baekhyun struggles with it the most, his magic seeping away from him the higher their elevation gets. It makes it difficult for him to navigate at all, and, at some point, he’s no longer able to ride on his own horse—instead he rides in the same saddle as Jongdae. Occasionally, he sits in Minseok’s saddle.

But, because Minseok knows the terrain better, he leads more often. And it’s better he unencumbered as he does so. They’ve long reached the elevation where trees cease to grow, and walking the army over craggy peaks is nerve-wracking. Minseok really doesn’t need any extra distraction.

Still, they’ve arrived. The Kingdom’s walls lie ahead of them, rising up alongside the mountain. They can see the city too, climbing up behind the walls, growing in elevation until it disappears beyond the clouds.

“This is rather high up,” Jongdae comments upon their stop.

“The call it the Kingdom of the God for a reason,” Minseok replies. “It touches the heavens.”

“Indeed,” Jongdae agrees, his breath clouding in front of him. He’s heavily bundled, as is Baekhyun. Both of them wear their furs with great care, determined to banish the cold from their bones. Still, when you’re this high up, this far North… the cold is simply a way of life. Even Minseok, who isn’t as susceptible to it, wears extra layers now.

Jongdae turns, gathering his group of scouts. They’ll create a trail down the mountain side, over to the coastline just a few leagues or so away. There, they’ll give the signal, and from across the Middle Sea, the Mutiarin Navy will sail to Lorraine and begin the Eastern offensive while Jongdae attacks from the South.

But, for now they wait. They’ll mount the offensive at nightfall tomorrow. They cannot wait too long, for who knows when a blizzard will blow through—it is the height of winter after all—and their soldiers _will_ freeze at these temperatures, but they have to get enough rest to give it a good effort.

They set up camp just out of reach of any of the wall’s defenses. Minseok’s familiar enough with Ocalle’s battle plans to know that it’s unlikely anyone will mount a surprise offensive in the night—after all, it’s so much safer to wait everything out behind the Kingdom’s impenetrable walls.

Minseok’s glad to duck into his shared tent. Baekhyun’s the only one inside at the moment, his hands wrapped around a bowl of hot broth, face sleepy, hair tussled by the wind. He looks up at the sound of Minseok entering the tent, curious to know who’s entered.

“It’s me,” Minseok identifies, just so Baekhyun knows.

The Witch nods, returning to sip at his broth. “Are you happy to be home?”

“Not home yet,” Minseok murmurs, “And it’s hardly a warm welcome, don’t you think?”

Baekhyun cackles at that, his soup rocking in his bowl dangerously. “Hardly,” he agrees, sipping the broth again. “But, what could you expect? They open the gates?”

“I _was_ their king,” Minseok reasons, not that he thinks that has any merit on the conversation. After all, they’d elected someone new immediately after he’d been captured. He hardly believes anyone inside those walls are willing to work with him. “Anyways, I feel more at ease up here in the mountains. I like the cold,” he says.

Baekhyun shakes his head. “I intend to go right back to the Isati after this.”

“You’re not going to stay with us in Melasi?” Jongdae asks, letting himself into the tent and throwing his wet pelt onto one of the chairs that’s been set up for them.

“I’ll visit,” Baekhyun says, waving them off. That feeling Minseok often gets when Baekhyun’s not telling the whole truth comes back.

“Are you sure?” He presses, fixing both he and Jongdae and bowl of soup for themselves. Then, he goes to sit near Baekhyun, his gaze worried. Jongdae seems similarly curious. Minseok wonders if he ever gets the niggling feeling too.

Baekhyun seems not to hear him, so, Minseok repeats himself. Shaking his head, Baekhyun comes back to his senses. “Hm? Yes, yes. I’ll visit. In time.”

Jongdae waves Minseok off, noticing that he’s still not satisfied with Baekhyun’s answer. _“He’s just like this, sometimes,”_ Jongdae mouths.

Perhaps.

“Where will you be for the battle?” Jongdae asks him, curious to see if Baekhyun’s given it any thought before they assign him to some place.

“I need to be with you,” Baekhyun says quietly. “Minseok can hold his own, but I _have_ to be with you,” he repeats.

“No.” Jongdae says flatly. Minseok says nothing, watching Baekhyun’s body language, taking careful note of his tone.

“No, Jongdae, you don’t understand. I have to, please,” he murmurs, setting his bowl down and crawling towards Jongdae, his hand outstretched. Jongdae catches his wrist and gently, but firmly, pushes it away from his face.

He’s shaking his head, unmoved. But Minseok hears something in Baekhyun’s voice. It’s not petulance, like he’s frustrated to be left behind due to his blindness. It’s _fear_.

In Wyrword, Minseok says, “I’ll bring you to the battle with me, so you are close to him.”

Jongdae glances at him, obviously confused as to why Minseok’s changed tongues. “Just don’t argue with him now,” Minseok continues, reaching out to pull Baekhyun back to a seated position again.

Baekhyun goes willingly, his fears somewhat assuaged by Minseok’s promise. Jongdae asks what was said, and all Minseok does is say he reminded Baekhyun of what it was like the last time he walked on the front lines.

Jongdae nods, taking the excuse at face-value.

“Are you afraid?” Minseok redirects, speaking to Jongdae now.

Jongdae hums, “Isn’t everyone afraid the night before a great battle. If I lose here… I lose it all, don’t I?”

 _“Lose it all_ ,” Baekhyun echoes, nodding. Minseok gives him a look, mildly alarmed by his behavior, then returns his gaze to Jongdae, trying to seem as if he’s not shaken.

“Can always retreat if the tide doesn’t seem to be working in your favor,” Minseok says, trying to assuage some of his fears. But Baekhyun’s made the mood tenser. Minseok truly feels like he’s on the cusp of something _dire_. Something that will change the world for better or for worse. “You don’t have to fight it ’til the bitter end.”

Jongdae shakes his head, “I have to ride the wave of victory. The soldiers hate this place. It’s not their homeland. The only thing motivating them is me. If I _lose_ , who do they stand behind?”

“They’ll still stand behind you, because they’re loyal,” Minseok says.

Baekhyun nods, “They’re devout,” he agrees.

“This has nothing to do with religion,” both Jongdae and he snap.

Baekhyun falls quiet, then, “It has _everything_ to do with religion. You’re too blind to see it.”

Both of them want to argue, but both of them hold their tongues. Instead, Jongdae reaches out, pulling Baekhyun into his hold. “You’re worried and your getting stuck in your head, love,” he chides, kissing the top of his head.

Minseok nods, adding his own input, “If you’d like, we can say a prayer for a good battle. But after that… come back to the world of men.”

And so, they pray, and in the ensuing silence, Baekhyun gets up and makes his way over to Jongdae’s pallet. “It’s going to be a frightfully cold night,” he murmurs, tucking himself into the blankets. “You both ought to join me,” he invites.

Jongdae glances at Minseok, lips quirked nervously. He doesn’t seem opposed, just unsure if Minseok’s comfortable enough to agree.

Knowing he’ll have to make the first move in order to put Jongdae’s worries to rest, he stands up, putting his empty bowl up, and walks over to the pallet, slipping under the blankets with Baekhyun. Jongdae joins them a few minutes later, curled around Baekhyun’s back. He kisses Minseok gently, longingly.

This could be their last night together, after all.

***

The signal goes out at sundown, traveling across the mountain. All they can hope is that none of the scouts are killed before the torch is passed all the way to their chosen signal point. If the pyre doesn’t go up in flames, the _Kwati_ across the sea won’t launch her attack on Lorraine, and their offensive becomes significantly weaker.

Jongdae and Minseok hang back as their catapults are loaded. Most are rickety, will not hold up for very long. Most were built in the time the army’s been on the mountain, when they had stopped at various levels of elevation during their days of travel. A few are older, sturdier, and will be of a greater use.

But right now all of them wait for the order.

Jongdae gives it, and the first volley is sent up against the walls, crashing into stone, beating against the outer line of defense. Their real concern is the gate. Both the exterior metal grate and the interior wooden gate.

The second volley tears through the exterior grating, warping the metal beneath the weight of the rocks that had been cast.

Archers pick off a few of their men, but Jongdae does not cease to direct the forces.

It takes twelve good hits of the many more that were loaded and shot for the wooden gate to splinter. Now, Jongdae directs the company that will move forward with the battering ram.

Lightning flashes overhead as the men run ahead, the huge trunk held in arm. They are attacked mercilessly by the archers and guards on the walls—arrows fly down at them, rocks and boiling water follow.

But they are loyal. They are courageous.

The gate splinters further. Once, twice, thrice it’s hit. Now, Jongdae gathers the infantryman. It’s time to prepare for the gate to open in full. It’s time for the invasion of the city.

The battering ram continues to beat against the gate. For a fourth, fifth, sixth time.

Minseok recognizes the general on the walls. Remembers the man’s cruelty toward his own troops.

With a growl, Minseok gathers his magic and directs it at the gate. Jongdae feels it, watches as Minseok’s energy gives the battering ram that extra push that sends the gates breaking open.

And then, the army inside the city is attacking the army outside. Soldiers _stream_ out of the gates, swords, axes, hammers raised high above their heads. They have the advantage here. They are protecting their home.

Minseok watches as Jongdae races into the throng of the battle. He’s easy to follow now that lightning dances around his arms, reflecting the similar light show up in the sky.

He doesn’t make any move to join the other King quite yet. He’d made a promise. So, he kicks his horse into action, reining them away from the front lines, over towards the tent Jongdae had delivered Baekhyun at.

The Witch is waiting for him, his chin rising up when he recognizes Minseok’s magic. He holds out his hands, allowing Minseok to pull him up into the saddle, and wraps his arms around Minseok’s middle.

“Swear to me you won’t die,” Minseok says quietly. “Because he’ll kill me if I endanger you like this.”

“I won’t,” Baekhyun murmurs. “Besides, I _can’t_. Not like men can,” he continues.

Minseok chooses not to dwell on that, instead, returning his attention to the battle at hand. He races his horses through the snow back to the bulk of the action. He hesitates for only a moment for having Baekhyun with him, then, rushes into the throng of it all, his magic rippling forwards, creating a path for him to work with.

He fights his way to Jongdae’s side, at the pinnacle of the action. The King looks at him, notices Baekhyun, and shouts something, but Minseok cannot hear him over the clang of swords and shields.

He blocks a nasty hit from below him, his horse rearing up as he leans down and stabs at his attacker.

Snow flies around them, limiting their visibility. Behind him, one of the catapults has been lit aflame, and it has begun to illuminate the battle.

Minseok parries another attack, swiping forward, his sword colliding with a helmet with a clang. He hurriedly smashes the top in with the butt of his sword just a second later, ensuring that the soldier won’t be getting up anytime soon—if at all.

An arrow bounces off his armor, winding him momentarily. He looks up by habit.

Baekhyun shoves him out of the way, so forcefully that Minseok looses his seating completely, falling to the ground with a clatter of armor. His horse spooks, rearing up again. Baekhyun falls into the sludge near him, unmoving.

An arrowhead sticks out prominently from between his shoulder blades, the point of it dripping with blood.

Minseok snarls, grabbing a fallen archer’s bow from the mud and an arrow that lies sticking in the mud. He notches it, then looks up, spotting the archer closest to them. The one who must have shot at him. He lets the arrow fly, and the archer tumbles forward, off the wall, into the mud.

Minseok stabs him through with his sword before looking around wildly.

Baekhyun’s crawling to his feet, lips parted, face pale. He’s screaming, his attention not on Minseok, but rather—

 _Jongdae_.

They both watch as a knight rides close, grabbing Jongdae’s armored arm, and lifts it just out of the way of his sword. A sword that goes up through Jongdae’s armpit, through his heart, his lungs.

Baekhyun practically runs for him, stumbling and staggering, collapsing to his knees next to where Jongdae’s fallen from his saddle.

The battle lulls as the Muk’etin forces weigh whether or not to abandon the battle. Their King is dead, after all.

And Minseok _explodes_ , his magic radiating outwards with such great force, that he can _feel_ his heart begin to stutter, unable to handle the energy output. But he’s _furious_. For all Jongdae is to him, he’s the first person Minseok’s ever let himself… _love_.

Ice impales Jongdae’s killer, holding up the corpse like a macabre flag. And this is what gets the army to stay. The swift revenge, the obvious power that their fight still holds.

They swell forwards again.

Baekhyun sits wrapped around Jongdae, his eyes beginning to glow, magic _visibly_ traveling through his body in the form of bright, golden rivulets. All of them draining into Jongdae’s corpse.

Minseok turns back to the city, his magic continuing to force its way forward, much like a bull. The walls begin to crack under the pressure, and the gate fully breaks away from its hinges now.

His heart continues to pound, rabbiting in his chest. It will burst.

Rage continues to empower his fight as he walks forward, ice spearing upwards from the ground, snow whipping at his clothes and face. Lightning sparkles in the sky, illuminating the battlefield.

He collapses a few feet from the gate, his body suddenly losing all its fight.

His heart cannot take it.

But he digs his hands into the frosty ground vainly.

From the very roots of the earth, he feels it.

Everyone does.

For the second time, the battle lulls, people looking down at their feet, at the distinct rumbling beneath them. And Minseok sighs, reaching out with one last burst of magic now that he knows exactly what it is he’s summoning forth from the core of the world.

That last burst of magic _rips_ through his body, tearing up muscle, incinerating bone, peeling back his skin. His eyes stay resolutely closed. He does not want to see what it is like to die.

And yet, in the aftermath of the visceral feeling of his body tearing itself apart, there’s something new. Something impossibly cold radiating through him, settling around his core, enlivening his mind.

He opens his eyes just as the Wyrm erupts from the ground in front of him, its maw tearing at the stone walls, crashing down into the earth.

He stands, looking back at Baekhyun.

The Witch meets his eyes.

**_“Rechylaim hip_ ** **ʼ** **_yet_ ** **ʼ** **_ui, Cael Lok.”_ **

_Reclaim your throne, Cael Lok._

A second later, the corpse in _his_ arms opens its eyes.

Jongdae jolts to life, his eyes like diamond.

**_“Hlyingksok ap_ ** **ʼ** **_, Sawo Lok.”_ **

_Join them, Sawo Lok._

And Jongdae rises.

For Ocalle, this is a crushing defeat already. This is the Carisine arisen. His magic rockets into the sky, lightning sparkling across the entire sky—making the night so bright that it may as well be day.

The Wyrm rises from the earth again, tearing through the kingdom’s walls once more, before disappearing back underground, leaving rubble in its wake.

Minseok returns his attention to the open gate and the enemy soldiers before him. He hefts his sword and, though they challenge him, he cuts through them with ease. His skin is _alight_ with power. Every step he takes seems to shake the ground. Every step he takes, he is closer to his Throne. Closer to unseating his usurper, who betrayed him. Who betrayed Minseok’s people by fighting this fight.

He ought to have surrendered. He’d save so many lives.

Jongdae follows him, his hair whipping in the wind. And, the farther they walk inside, the less their enemies come to fight them. Now, they cower.

Minseok walks to the Palace, sure of step, his mind secure in its judgment.

The King of the Valiwyr sits on his Throne, sweat beading on his forehead, nerves sending tremors through his hands, his legs.

Minseok stares at him from across the throne room.

“I’m not dead,” He says quietly.

“You’re a traitor.”

Minseok shakes his head, walking forward, his armor clinking. “I am not. I am a King.”

“You are a _prisoner_ ,” the usurper snarls.

Minseok _laughs_ , “I am a King, and you are a coward.”

Neither of the king’s guards step forward to save their master. Minseok’s sword runs through his chest with enough force that the blade appears out the back of the gilded chair. He stands there, watching as the king gasps and soon, dies.

“Send out the word. Your King has returned. I want this whole city to know. I want Airabard to know. I want Ob, Ethes, and Lorraine to know. Your _Kings_ have prevailed.”

_***_

Baekhyun’s dead when they return to the battlefield. And Jongdae is _bereaved_ about it. Until one of the Ch’ewin soldiers dares to interrupt his mourning with the simple message that “ _Ilina’kai is a god. And gods do not die. Only their mortal bodies.”_

And this allows both he and Minseok to collect themselves and focus on the city at hand. If Alfine had been brusque with them, Ocalle is a wholly different story. Here, they are _feared_. Here, they are _hated_.

On the third day after their invasion, he has his men round up the city’s inhabitants and bring them out to the courtyard. From the balcony, he greets them, dressed in royal garbs, crowned with his _rightful_ crown. And next to him, Jongdae wears his formal, military outfit, a gleaming golden circlet on his head. _Kings_.

“It’s be a long while since you’ve seen me,” he says. He does not raise his voice, but he is so commanding that the courtyard remains silent, even if that silence is cold, hateful. “I brought your fathers, your brothers, your sons to a war in the East. A war founded on a lie amplified by misplaced hatred.” The crowd murmurs. They remember. “I fought alongside those fathers, brothers, sons on the Battle for the Pearl. And I was captured.”

Here, the crowd begins to shout, insulting him, decrying him. Minseok says nothing. He only waits. They’ll lose their voices eventually.

When they receive no reaction from him, they quiet down once more.

“And as a prisoner, I was treated with respect far beyond what is typical for a prisoner here in the West. I was fed, clothed, sheltered. I was given access to libraries, to markets, to palaces,” he explains, “And I learned the truth of our war.” He pauses. They all know that the beloved Heir to Airabard was the exigence. They all know that he was her brother.

“My sister, Princess Minkyung of Airabard, chose to enter a wargame. She lost, fairly. She knew the terms of her game. She knew the consequences, and yet she still played that game,” He pauses, recalling the scene in his council room. “When this message was initially delivered to me, it was retold in such a way as to be propaganda. It was incendiary. It portrayed a murderous prince with little respect for _our_ princess. It portrayed a nation that spat on our own. This is not true.”

Minseok again falls silent, choosing his next words carefully.

“I was your King. But, when I was captured, you did not come for me. I served you so that you might serve me, and you failed me,” he states, cold eyes roving over his audience. “Instead, you elected a liar to your throne. You elected a man who, when your city was under siege, hid in his throne room, cowering behind guards.”

He rests both of his hands on the railing. “How dare you replace a King with a coward, and then meet me with hate. How _dare_ you.”

“Better a coward than a traitor!” Comes a shout from below.

Minseok blinks. “If I were a traitor, I would not have your best interests at heart,” he says, shrugging. “If I were a traitor, I would have burned this city to the ground for the way it betrayed me. But I am no traitor. I am a _peacemaker_ ,” he argues, gaze flashing. “Had I not made deals for you, this foreign king still would have won his war. But, if he had won it, and I were _not_ his ally, you would have no voice for yourself in his council.”

“But I am your voice. A voice for the West. I am a voice _equal_ to the foreigner. I am King just as he is. I am _Emperor_ just as he is.” Minseok says, finally beckoning for Jongdae to step forward.

The first thing out of his mouth is that, “You’ll be governed by one of your own.” Which immediately has the people mumbling. “I have no intention of ruling here. I have no intention of my King ruling here. We will both return to Melasi.”

Silence.

“You will be governed by Do Kyungsoo, Advisor to the Kings, Speaker of the People. He will return to the city in a few days time. We chose him not only for his loyalty to us, but for his loyalty to you,” Jongdae explains.

Minseok nods, agreeing with him.

“I am not here to disrupt your lives. Your laws will meld with my laws. Semma is a free nation, of free love, of free market, of free being. We will share with you our advancements, we will share with you our culture. Just as your culture will bleed into ours. This is a marrying of nations, not a burying of one.”

And yet, they _do_ have burials to do.

“Though I greeted you with violence, I hope to rule you justly. My soldiers have set up pyres just outside the walls. Your men are laid there as are ours. You’ll be free to pay them respects. We’ll be paying restitutions to the families they leave behind. You may have your priests say what final vows are native to your homeland, as will we.”

Jongdae steps back, his part said. Minseok takes his place once more. “Our men will walk the streets. They are simple men like you. Show them respect, and they will show the same to you. Though we stand here and preach peace, I am a King with an iron fist. I will enforce what must be enforced.”

Both he and Jongdae turn, stepping back inside the palace. Jongdae gathers his cloak, and then, they are walking through the palace, out onto the streets. They are not heralded by guards. They walk alone, challenging anyone to act out against them.

They are not heckled as they leave for the walls. They are followed.

Everyone grieves. Everyone pays their respects.

Baekhyun is given the tallest pyre because his rank exceeds all others. Jongdae and Minseok both walk right for it. They stop there, silent. Neither of them pray.

There is no need.

But Baekhyun’s vessel had been worn down by their campaign. It deserves its rest.

They both place their palms on the wooden fuel at the base of the pyre. Flames sparkles from their fingertips, eating at the straw and sticks, and soon, the pyre is ablaze. Neither of them step away, even as the flames grow hotter and hotter.

It does not cause them pain.

***

“Well, brother, it appears you’ve done well,” Jungah says, entering the throne room and taking her heavy fur cloak off her shoulders. She stamps her feet free of mud and snow, uncaring of the carpet beneath her feet.

“As have you,” Jongdae says, offering her a murderous look and nervously glancing Minseok’s way. He needn’t worry, for Minseok is _charmed_. Jungah is very much like his sister, though perhaps a little more patient, a little more thoughtful, a little more cautious.

He greets her with a dip of his head, grinning, “It’s good to meet you, _Kwati_. Properly this time.” Jungah was the one to raise Jongdae’s hand and proclaim him the Carisine. Minseok had met her only briefly, and had not ever attached her face to her name.

“And you,” she says, forgoing any titles. Minseok can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. She’s a breath of fresh air. A familiarity that he cannot shake. And he’s grateful to be meeting her. “You’ll be marrying my brother, if I remember correctly?”

Jongdae looks to him, waiting for Minseok to confirm. He always treads lightly around this topic, like he’s afraid he coerced Minseok into agreeing. Minseok has not been coerced. He’s given it thought. “It would seem so,” he agrees.

Jungah holds his gaze for a moment, then, breaks out in a _blinding_ grin. “You’ll be good for him,” she says, “he’s always needed someone to keep him on a leash.”

“Baekhyun always said that,” Jongdae whines.

“Ah, but Baekhyun never made any effort to hold you back. If anything, he’d stoke the fire. Where is he, by the way?”

“Somewhere in the Isati, if I’m to believe the Ch’ewins,” Jongdae answers, frowning slightly.

Jungah cocks her head. Then, realization seems to dawn on her face. “The prophecy then. It was real.”

Minseok and Jongdae _both_ frown this time, shaking their heads. “What do you mean?” They say.

“Surely Baekhyun told you,” she muses.

Jongdae nods. “He did recite it for us. It talked about the two kings that would conquer the world.”

“And?” Jungah says, waiting for Jongdae to continue. But he doesn’t. That’s all the prophecy _is_ to them. They’ve never heard a longer version. Realizing this, she frowns as well. Clearing her throat, she recites it in full, just as she remembers it:

> **_“Pi ai is speskwa a pishtrushtrow el skyustrat_ ** **ʼ** **_kaw ake pishtresh._ **
> 
> From the storms is born a king with eyes like lightning
> 
> **_Pi pike speskwa pishtrushtrow el sawañ ake kaskwoa._ **
> 
> From the snow is born a king with skin like death.
> 
> **_Pi ik_ ** **ʼ** **_speskwa a eshe el skyuk_ ** **ʼ** **_uso kaw._ **
> 
> From the sand is born a god without eyes.
> 
> **_Ikspungkteng pishtrushtrow krostrochy_ ** **ʼ** **_the hlyi._ **
> 
> Twin kings that will flood the world.
> 
> **_Sas skyuplo._ **
> 
> That will conquer.
> 
> **_Sas lokspo a chyo plitsaw._ **
> 
> That will rule a new age.
> 
> **_Pishtrushtrow is krop_ ** **ʼ** **_plisuña pong_ **
> 
> Kings who fall in battle.
> 
> **_Sañe wuchy_ ** **ʼ** **_ep_ ** **ʼ** **_chy_ ** **ʼ** **_upak eshe_ **
> 
> And rise as gods.
> 
> **_Ai Lok._ **
> 
> God of Disorder.
> 
> **_Cael Lok_ **
> 
> God of Order.
> 
> **_Lok_ ** **ʼ** **_p_ ** **ʼ** **_ush teñ ahel lochy teñ lostroñaye teñ yolachy_ **
> 
> Heralded at the homeland by their lover, their servant.
> 
> **_Ilina’kai.”_ **

Silence follows her words. “You are gods, then. I heard the soldiers talking about the siege, but I thought they were merely making up stories. Both of you died.”

Minseok shakes his head. “I don’t know what we are,” he says, “Only that it’s true that we’re no longer… human.”

Jongdae nods and then, seeking to demonstrate, he picks his dagger from his belt and pricks open his thumb. Golden ichor beads at the mouth of the wound.

Jungah nods slowly. “It’s good to know you’ve not been following a loon,” she jokes of Baekhyun, and both of them cackle, appreciating the lightness she brings them. “And it’ll be good for our sisters to know that you do in fact rule by divine right. You know we get jealous sometimes,” and she reaches out to pinch Jongdae’s cheeks.

They are interrupted minutes later.

“My Lords,” the squire says, looking between both of them, unsure of who it is he should address. He was right to speak to both of them. Again, they are equal in rank. “We’ve messages from Ethes, Ob, and Airabard.”

“Read them then,” Jongdae says, lifting his chin pridefully.

The squire nods.

Ethes message is of surrender. Minseok had expected this—that kingdom had always cowed to power, always interested in saving its power. It’ll be easy to takeover as even the people there are nonchalant. So long as their way of life is not drastically altered, they will not challenge any change in ruler. Politics, of course, goes far above the regular serf’s head.

Ob and Airabard are different. Airabard is the northernmost, westernmost kingdom. It is a kingdom known for its defiance. For its independence. There was a reason that the Valiwyr elected a vast number of its kings _from_ that kingdom. They are powerful in a different sense. A different caliber. And Minseok’s mother’s heart is hardened by hate. She does not see why avenging a fallen daughter is a betrayal to her _living_ son. But so be it.

Ob is similarly stubborn, but Minseok does not bear the same apprehension in taking it. It’s a small kingdom, and it must grossly underestimate Jongdae’s numbers. Still, if they just march on Airabard, and successfully force the kingdom into submission, Ob will follow. They are not as independent as they’d like to think they are.

He relays all of this to Jungah and Jongdae, holding back nothing.

“Airabard is on the tundra. They will wait us out. You can use all the battering rams you want. All the catapults. Their walls will not fall. Their archers will pick off your men. And we will starve.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Jongdae asks.

There’s only one thing Minseok can think of. And that’s convincing his mother that he is still her son. It’s backing her into a corner and forcing her to see past her prejudice, her hatred, her grief.

He has a plan.

***

They’d waited for Kyungsoo to return to enact that plan, that way Jongdae, Minseok, _and_ Jungah could all leave the city without fearing an uprising. Which has led them here, to the tundra, where ice whips across the open plain and Airabard stands like a gothic fortress against the morning sky.

He sits astride his horse alone. Jongdae and his sister are several paces behind him, waiting with the small army they’d brought with them in the event Minseok is successful. They’re not here to brute force their way in, after all.

They’re here to convince Airabard that they have no option but to surrender. Minseok is hoping he can secure this surrender without bloodshed. He does not want to kill anymore of his friends.

He waits until he sees the Queen on the Walls. Grief has not treated his mother kindly. What was once a sweet, kindly face is strict now, gaunt and stoic. Her lips are pressed in a fine line, and her eyes seem deadened. Her countenance is as cold as the climate.

“Mother,” he calls out, letting his voice carry the distance. He’s within range of the archers, but he’s gambled that they will not shoot. At least, not until they’re given the order—at which point Minseok will have plenty of time to put some distance between he and they. “Open your gates. The war is over.”

“No,” she says calmly, her voice equally hard, equally powerful. “I will not hand over my Throne to a murderer and a traitor-”

“You will,” Minseok interrupts, voice icey. The earth beneath him shakes, and between he and the kingdom, the Wyrm rises up from the ice.

It’s like a dragon, except made out of stone and dirt and gems. It’s massive as well, even upon its emergence, only half of it touches the open air. And its jaws hang open.

He brought it here because his mother knows where _they_ come from as well as Minseok does. Airabard was the Wyrie. It was the last of Veloch to fall to the invaders from the North. It was a kingdom that was rooted in magic. And though his mother, and many generations before her has only grown up with Lij and his Tenants, Minseok _knows_ that she’s familiar with the Old Gods and their myths.

She was the one who gave him the key to their Library. She was the one who practiced Wyrword with him. She _knows_ what the Wyrm is. And she knows what it means in relation to Minseok.

“What are you?” She asks. “You are not my son.”

“I am your son. Just as I am your King. Just as I am your god.” Minseok says simply. The Wyrm roars, punctuating his words.

His mother stands at the top of the walls, weighing what it all means, and then. “When you were born, the midwife told me that you were not mine. That you were not of mortal birth. And I had her executed for blasphemy.”

“You executed a woman who prophesied a truth,” Minseok says in response. He opens his palm, cuts deeply enough that when the ichor spatters the ground, his mother will be able to see it.

Again, there is silence.

“You’ve filled your head with stories,” his mother protests again. But her argument is weakening. She sounds like she’s grasping for straws, not like she’s stating a truth.

“It was you then who told those stories,” Minseok says, his voice remaining even. The wind tugs at his furs, pulls at his cloak. He looks powerful, and she, even on her pulpit, looks _weak._ “I’ll tell you again, Mother. You will open the gates. Isn’t a living child more valuable than a dead one?”

His mother stares at him, anger evident even at the distance.

And then, Airabard opens its gates.

Minseok waits for Jongdae and Jungah to join him before he trots his horse up through the gates.

It is no trap. Their army marches inside, and so, Airabard becomes a part of the Semman Empire.

His mother waits at the gate. Now that she has given up, she looks sickly. Without hate keeping his spine upright, she seems to lack the conviction Minseok had almost admired about her. She still does not look like the woman Minseok knows and loves, and he doubts that she ever will.

He knows that she will never forgive him for this. Airabardians are stubborn. They are proud. It had taken them long enough to cede to the Valiwyr. And now, to cede to the Eastern Nation… it will be a long time before they ever _truly_ belong to Jongdae’s legacy.

And that’s all right. Change does not happen over one lifetime. But many. It’s slow. But it will happen.

“I’ve missed you,” Minseok greets her, keeping his tone delicate. He will not gloat with her.

“I’ve missed my son,” she says, her tone remaining cold. Her choice of words is calculated. She means to separate the man stood in front of her from the boy she raised. And she’s wrong for doing it, but what can Minseok argue at this point.

“I’m sure you do,” he says instead. She grits her teeth and looks away from him, at Jongdae instead.

“This is the murderer, then?”

“Your daughter fought valiantly,” Jongdae says simply. He’ll not argue his innocence with Minseok’s mother. It’s already been said many a time. She’s set on believing a lie.

Minseok catches her hand before she can strike Jongdae. His gaze holds fiery warning. Then, he relaxes, delivering his next lines with simple ease. “You will be relieved of your title and given that of Governess. You will answer to Do Kyungsoo, who will act as the voice for the West. Thank you, Mother, for choosing to end this peacefully.”

Behind him, the Wyrm buries back into the ground. It won’t be needed now, likely won’t be needed for several years.

“Now, if you will. I’d like to pen a letter to those in Ob.”

***

Two letters come in, roughly a month later. Jongdae and Minseok had both remained in Airabard given its proximity to Ob. If they needed to fight, then they would simply continue marching.

But, as it stands, that first letter is from the King of Ob, and he has agreed to cede to Jongdae’s forces. Jungah is sent to Ob with her soldiers, there, she will establish the new order until it is time for her to leave. The King will act as the city’s governor.

Leaving them the second letter. Jongdae hands it to Minseok by default, figuring that it, like all the other letters have been, will be written in Minseok’s native tongue. But, that is not the case.

Rather, the letter is short (only a sentence or so), and it is written in the flowing script that Minseok’s come to associate with the Isati. It’s not the same lettering as Jongdae uses, but a different variety. Baekhyun’s variety. He passes it to Jongdae, “What does it say?”

Jongdae reads it aloud. “Come home, loves. It has been eons since I’ve served you _both_.”

Minseok nods. “The longer you stay here, the more Melasi forgets your face,” he muses. “And that is to be your Capitol.”

“Indeed. It’s best I return soon then. And introduce them to their new King as well.”

Minseok grins. It’s a delightful plan. And he’s ready to rest.


	7. Take Your Vows

**The Year 1279**

**Melasi, Semman Empire**

They had waited a month for Baekhyun to appear in Melasi. And yet, he never comes. And the city grows more excitable every day, rumors of a royal wedding on a horizon serving to jolt them into action. Every time Minseok walks outside, he feels like there’s someone new preparing for the celebrations. The streets have been decked for weeks.

But, the longer they wait, the more the rumors start to look like _real_ rumors—unfounded ones at that. And the crest of excitement hangs in the balance. There’s a specific day where everything seems to sit, everyone seems to hold their breath. It’s so palpable that even he and Jongdae notice it inside the Palace.

Jongdae makes the announcement a day after that. At the end of the month, at sundown, they will take vows. For politics. For love. For eternity.

That day comes quickly, and, standing in his chambers, Minseok can’t help but feel nervous.

“Relax, _Akspi_ , my brother does not bite.” Jungah readjusts the collar of his heavy robes. They’d decided on a style distinctly northwestern, that way the nation would know his roots. Would recognize that their marriage is a union between the lands across the Middle Sea just as much as it is a marriage between their mortal selves.

Jungah had volunteered to help Minseok get ready, knowing he had no family in Melasi. Junmyeon helps Jongdae.

All of the _Kwati_ s will be in attendance. And thats almost as nerve-wracking as the fact that he’s getting married is. “Ah, but do your sisters?” He tries to joke, glancing at himself in the mirror. He’s dressed in white and ivories. Delicate gold hoops hang from his ears, thin metallic necklaces sit around his throat, and golden rings bedeck his hands. Jungah had done his makeup, and the light blush and eyeshadow compliments his eyes wonderfully.

But Minseok’s favorite part is how snowflakes have been incorporated in both his jewelry and his robes—a silent nod to his powerful, icey magic.

“It shouldn’t matter if my sisters bite or not,” Jungah says, “You’ll not have them in bed, now will you?”

He blushes, scoffing at the same time. “Don’t be crass,” he chides. He looks away from the mirror, down at the vanity. There’s a clump of roses from the South. Jungah says they were delivered without a message, but something about them makes Minseok’s heart pang dangerously.

He wishes Baekhyun were here too.

“You’re ready,” Jungah says, placing his crown on his head. She offers him her arm, and all of his thoughts fly out the window as he follows her lead down the halls all the way to the palace entrance.

The doors swing open, revealing the courtyard, and the great pavilion. The courtyard is filled with the elite folk, those wearing garments as flashy as, but certainly not as fine as Minseok’s robes. Beyond them, the people stand watching, cheering.

But Minseok’s attention is on the man that stands just beneath the archway separating the courtyard and the stairs down to the pavilion.

Jongdae is also dressed in white, with golden jewelry, but in distinctly Eastern garments. They flow more, are lighter, more sheer. They sparkle in the sunlight, wave in the wind. His chest is on display, but is decked in golden collars and jeweled drapes. He feels just as dressed up as Minseok despite the skin he shows.

His smile is _dazzling_ as Minseok walks down to him.

The crowd roars with cheer when they link hands, standing, facing one another. And then, the sound suddenly _swells_. He and Jongdae notice the change and look down the stairway.

Baekhyun’s dressed in robes of every color. He’s draped with opal and gold jewelry. His silver hair seems to float around him upon his ascent. He’s barefoot, but even his ankles and toes are accented with little rings and anklets.

“Gods are not wed by men,” Baekhyun says once he’s within earshot. “Kneel,” he commands, his eyes flashing that iridescent silver that’s all too familiar. Minseok’s missed him.

Both of them fall to their knees, hands still linked tightly together.

Baekhyun says the rites in the language of the gods. In Nech’i, the Tongue of Ilina’kai. The words all slur together, but they string a sound akin to a song. Minseok’s happy to lose himself listening to it.

Then, all too quickly, Baekhyun’s speaking to them. Directly to them.

“Minseok, King of the West, Prophesied Ruler, Vessel of Cael Lok,” he addresses. “Do you accept Jongdae, King in the East, Prophesied Conqueror, Vessel of Sawo Lok?”

 _“Yes,”_ he breathes. A wave of magic pulses around them, much like a heartbeat. Baekhyun turns to Jongdae, asking him the same question. Again, the vow is accepted. Again, magic pulses around them.

Baekhyun steps forward, gripping their hands in his. He raises them high, turning to the crowds below.

**_“Lok_ ** **ʼ** **_hip_ ** **ʼ** **_pishtrushtrow!”_ **

Greet your kings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured it'd be fun to share a few little fun facts about making this beast, if you were at all curious:
> 
> • The fic started out two years ago as something called the Colossus in the Cut. Jongdae was a pirate, Baekhyun was still a priest, but he was human, and Minseok was the leader of a mercenary guild. The premise was that, as humans, they'd been chosen as champions of their gods and would be the ones to settle the Gods' War. I ended up taking that conflict and making it human war, with god-like champions.
> 
> • It had yet another draft called A Resurrection of Blood and Bone in which Melasi (which was South of the Valiwyr and not to the East of it in this draft) actually sent Jongdae to get married to Minseok, who was King of the Valiwyr. Originally, there was going to be an attempt at a coup, sending Minseok and Jongdae down South for aide from Jongdae's family. Then they were going to run into Baekhyun who—again—was something of a priest (just a little more violent, a little more cult sacrifice like LOL). And Baekhyun was going to be the end-game villain!
> 
> • Baekhyun was, for this draft, supposed to be something of a himbo originally, but I made him smart and OP, sorry. In my defense, Jongdae also got to be smart and OP and Minseok ended up smart and OP. But originally Minseok and Jongdae were supposed to be the brains and Baekhyun was something of a guard—their champion if you will. It ended up being that Baekhyun was the sort of key to everything falling together, with Jongdae and Minseok being champions for the endgame.
> 
> • The fic was originally from Jongdae's POV! I switched to Minseok because I felt like it would be more fun to write the stranger in the environment than the native. I wrote the entire battle in Mutiara from Jongdae's POV before I decided things weren't working and switched. I thought about POV switching, like how the foreword was done, but I'm not really a fan of it as a reader, so I tried to stick with a 3rd person limited as much as I could.
> 
> • The language was made using VulgarLang! I didn't want to sit down and make a language from scratch, but I wanted something that's vocabulary would remain similar throughout the whole story. I ended up writing out a few phrases I thought I'd use a lot (some I only ended up using once or twice, though) and then tried to give enough context that they could be guessed at in most scenarios.
> 
> • I'd love to say I sit down and keep an organized doc of all the places and locations and cultures and stuff, and like... I "tried" but I'm really more of a pantser than a planner so like... :') Halfway through I had to go back and highlight place names and make little comments and links and stuff to like a meta-document (which is really only a vague, scattered list of place names and like three words to describe them) but like, it was so messy and I still have mistakes I have to clean up. The god names were also a huge problem since I kept forgetting them AND forgetting to list them down. So, I'd have to pour over my text for inconsistencies with them too. I'm a mess, i'm sorry HHH.
> 
> Anyways, as always, if you enjoyed reading, please do let me know via a comment, kudos, or hell, even send me a tweet! You can find me on my [writing twitter](https://twitter.com/sophluorescent) OR my [personal twitter!](https://twitter.com/syzygybbh)
> 
> Want to share head-canons or are too shy to leave a comment, i have a [curiouscat](https://t.co/KYC8gCVmPh?amp=1) !


	8. Editing Notice

**08/2020 Notice**

I’m currently working on editing A Prophecy of Storms. I want to correct inconsistencies throughout the fic, as well as add new scenes that I feel I rushed and or left out the first time. So, in time, I expect for the fic to be reorganized and reposted, with the publication date changed. I don’t intend to change any major details of the original work, but… IDK, I want to make it something I’m a little more proud of.

That being said, because I’m editing this, I had to go back and compile a metadocument to better help me keep things consistent. While I work on editing, I thought it’d be nice to share that document with anyone that was curious (since I'm always curious about how _other_ people organize things). In addition to the worldbuilding and character sheets and whatnot, I included the original drafts of this story—which might be fun to look at for those interested.

I typically write using Scrivener because its organization capabilities allow me to easily break up scenes and chapters and helps me—as a non-linear writer—to move things around when I’m not satisfied with them. I’ve included the original Scrivener file, for if you _also_ have the program and would like to view it as it was originally organized, but I’ve also included the Google PDF version.

Link to Scrivener Download: <https://drive.google.com/file/d/1BUtqWQL7WK8LfoGjo-GZxXZNL6w-Tlcc/view?usp=sharing>

Link to Google PDF: <https://drive.google.com/file/d/15VI__VUOYjcn4CxJFh2UvyV9JleqeWan/view?usp=sharing>

If you’re looking at the PDF version, the pages aren’t always formatted as they are in my word processor, so if you’re looking for specific content, the heading names are in order as follows, so you can just run the ‘find’ function to skip to them:

  * Foreword & Notes
  * Irida, the World
  * Magic, Gods, & Monsters
  * Languages of Irida
  * APOS Characters
  * Previous Drafts



I hope to come back in the future with a more polished work that I’m even more proud of, and I’m truly so, so thankful for the love you have shown this fic. It’s really delightful to come back and read comments on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please considering leaving comments or kudos to let me know what you thought!


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